


Holding Out for Heroes

by ShirleyAnn66



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Bones (TV), Broadchurch, Castle, Haven (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Jericho (US 2006), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, But there are some unsettling scenes so please read responsibly, Captivity, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Gen, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Nothing graphic but some scenes will be disturbing and they're intended to be, Other, This isn't all sturm and drang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 38,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: In Haven, a young woman is kidnapped.  As the hunt becomes more and more desperate, more and more people appear to join the search...or is it a Trouble that's bringing them all together?





	1. Prologue - Fenley (Haven)

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N1:** Happy Anniversary, Babies!! On October 9, 2018, I celebrated my tenth anniversary of posting fanfic. How? This is my anniversary fic: a mash-up of all the fandoms I've written in so far. :)
> 
> **A/N2:** I've gone a bit overboard with the warning tags for this fic. There is humor in this fic and this is definitely not a graphic depiction of kidnapping or sexual assault, however, there are scenes that are disturbing/unsettling.

It’s cold.

And dark.

And she can’t move.

Fear gnaws at the edges of her mind as she drifts towards consciousness.  She doesn’t want to open her eyes.  She doesn’t want to wake up.  Something tells her fear will be the least of her troubles once she opens her eyes.

*/*/*/*/*

Something smacks her face, first one cheek then the other, sudden, sharp, stinging.

She flinches away from the contact, from the small pain, but it follows, growing sharper and stronger every time she flinches away.

Her head seems to be all she can move.  Her mind is heavy, thick, slow.

“Wake up, bitch,” a low voice hisses in her ear.  “It’s time to get started.”

Fear crowds her, overwhelms her, as her eyes flutter open.  She blinks and a face comes into focus:  nondescript, ordinary, weak-chinned, and almost kind-looking, if it weren’t for the fact she doesn’t know who he is, where she is, how she got here, or why she can’t move.

He looks into her eyes and slowly smiles and now he’s not so kind-looking or ordinary or innocuous as he reaches out and slowly strokes one finger down her cheek.

“We’re going to have so much fun,” he whispers.

She can feel a scream building in the back of her throat because she knows—she _knows_ —and his smile widens, his lips and teeth wet and glistening, his eyes gleaming with gleeful anticipation as her mouth sags open.

“Good,” he practically moans, “good.  Scream.  I love it when they scream.”

She feels herself bending, snapping, breaking beneath the weight of her terror then, to her own surprise, she hears herself say, “Let me tell you a story.”

*/*/*/*/*


	2. Leonard "Bones" McCoy (Star Trek 2009)

***/*/*/*/***

McCoy puts his hands behind his head, stretches his legs out as he slouches in the chair behind his desk in sickbay, and scowls at nothing.

It’s been surprisingly peaceful on the USS Enterprise, in the third year of its five year mission.  The last three planets had no intelligent or toxic life and the three before had civilizations at various stages of development but yet remarkably stable.  The visits to all the planets were quick and without incident.  Since no one has been fighting for their lives, the sickbay has been quiet as well.  There hasn’t even been a case of Antigean sniffles to break the monotony of the last few weeks.

He doesn’t like it.

Makes him nervous.

It’s like that ancient movie Kirk forced him to watch during their academy days:  some guy in a hat running down a tunnel with a giant boulder rolling behind him.  That’s exactly how McCoy feels.  He knows the damn thing is there; he just doesn’t know how far away it is.

“And then it’s snakes,” he mutters, his voice dark.  “Why is it always snakes?”

“Did you say something, Doctor?” Nurse Christine Chapel asks.

McCoy can feel his cheeks flushing a little with embarrassment.  “Just talking to myself, Nurse.”

Nurse.  He almost snorts at the thought.  Yes, she’s his sickbay nurse but the title is far too—heh—clinical for the heat he feels when he thinks of her.  Not that she knows, of course.  She’s too busy pining over Spock of all the godforsaken people although it’s a hopeless cause.  Spock and Uhura are more solid than ever and if they can stick together through five years of dangerous exploration under the command of an even more dangerous captain, well, then more power to them.

Some males have all the luck.

He winces, remembering Vulcan.

At least when it comes to women.

McCoy straightens in his chair with true relief as the intercom chimes.

“Doctor McCoy?  Please report to the bridge.”

Thank god, he thinks as he growls his affirmative and heads to the door with a curt good-bye to Christine.  Hopefully this means something’s going to happen.  He was getting positively maudlin.

*/*/*/*/*

“Full house, eights high,” Kirk says and McCoy throws his cards down with a noise of disgust.

Something’s happening all right, namely he’s losing his shirt again to Kirk in a poker game he should have known better than to agree to play.  Spock is watching with a dispassionate air that still manages to exude amusement at McCoy’s expense.

“I suppose I should just be grateful you’re not playing,” McCoy grumbles at the Vulcan.

Spock raises an eyebrow in response.  “Since I can almost instantly calculate the odds of what cards my opponents are holding at any given time, it would not be an enjoyable game for you.”

McCoy stares at him.  “Really.”

“How can you enjoy yourself when you know you are destined to lose?”

Kirk cracks a laugh. “Someday you’ll have to prove these vaunted skills to me in an actual game,” he says.  “Logic will always lose out to the sheer human desire to take a gamble and win.”

Spock does not look impressed.  “There is something be said for the illogical action being unpredictable,” he says.  “Still, playing cards must have some logic to it, like all human games, else all of your interactions while playing would devolve into violence.”

“True,” Kirk says with a rueful grin.  “Which is why cheating is so frowned upon.”

Spock tilts his head in agreement.

“Still, two-handed poker is never as much fun as three-handed...or four-handed.  Bones, why don’t you see what Scotty is doing?”

“Why don’t you invite Lieutenant Uhura to join you as well?” Spock says.  “She enjoys the game as much as anyone.”

“Ha!” Kirk says.  “The last time we played, she wiped out my entire month’s worth of credits!  I think she’s been taking lessons from you, Spock.”

“On the contrary, Captain.  I learned the game from her.”

McCoy rolls his eyes but before he can reach for his comm link, Kirk’s crackles into life.

“Captain,” Sulu says, “we have received a distress signal from an unknown planet.”

Immediately, the joys of poker are forgotten as they surge to their feet.

“On our way,” Kirk says and leads the way out of his quarters.

*/*/*/*/*

“Status?” Kirk barks as he takes the captain’s chair.

“We’ve been receiving this distress signal for the last several minutes, Captain,” Uhura says, calm and cool as always, and sends the message through the bridge’s speakers.

The sound that echoes through the bridge is wordless yet McCoy’s reaction to it is visceral and immediate:  fear churning in his stomach mixed with an almost mindless desperation.  For a moment, he thinks he sees rough-hewn wooden walls, and a door that seems too far away, and the sense of a presence, dangerous but somehow...dulled?  contained?...although he senses it’s only for the moment at a time when every moment counts.  There’s a feeling of constraint as his thoughts slow to a dulled crawl yet his mind is still sharp enough to know help is needed and to scream for it.

McCoy sways beneath the signal then blinks as it abruptly ends and there’s nothing but the bridge and his fellow officers.  For a moment he wonders if he’s gone mad with the boredom but when he glances around the bridge, he sees he’s not the only one affected.  Both Kirk and Spock appear to be reeling, blinking, looking around like they’re coming out of a daze...yet none of the others seem to notice.  Uhura, Chekhov, Sulu, even Scotty, are acting like this is just another routine distress signal and now-mission to an unexplored planet.

...which is filling the screens in front of them.

Blue and green and vaguely familiar.

Spock recites the chemical compositions of the air, water and plants, and adds, “There is an advanced civilization living on the planet.  Post-nuclear but not yet sophisticated enough to fully explore their own solar system.  An inordinate number of satellites are in orbit, however.”

“Well, let’s not scare the inhabitants,” Kirk says, his voice dry albeit somewhat strained.  “Jam their radar frequencies, Mr. Chekhov.”

“Jamming underway, Captain,” Chekhov says.

“Well,” Kirk says, “if we’re going to see what this distress signal is all about, I suggest we get going.”  He stands, his face creased with a puzzled frown.  “Spock, McCoy, with me.  Scotty, you have the bridge until we return.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Mr. Scott says and McCoy sees him settling into the captain’s chair as the doors to the bridge swish closed.

A shiver runs down McCoy’s spine, a remnant of the fear he had felt earlier.  For a moment, he wonders if Scotty and the others staying here, on the Enterprise, are the lucky ones.

*/*/*/*/*


	3. Audrey Parker (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

It’s been three days since Audrey has slept more than a couple of hours at a stretch.  Not that sleepless nights are anything new in Haven but this time, as far as they can tell, the crime is not Troubles-related.

Fenley Slavick, twenty, was last seen at one p.m. the previous afternoon getting into a white sedan—actual make and model unknown because the sole eye witness gives less than half a shit about cars although he’s even now sitting with one of the junior detectives going through pictures and hoping he’ll see something that looks familiar.  A young woman getting in a car isn’t news, not even in Haven, and not even when she’s reported missing within thirty minutes by her older sister.  Jarell Slavick insisted Fenley would never have missed meeting her without texting or calling.

Audrey and Nathan could have both told Jarell that anyone can forget to send a text.  By rights, they should have sent the woman home and told her to wait another forty-seven and a half hours.

But they didn’t.  Because this is now the fourth such disappearance in as many months...and all without a whiff of a Trouble, not even among the missing women.

Although the memories aren’t truly hers, Audrey’s knowledge of her ‘time’ at the FBI had put her on high alert after the third disappearance and three days ago, her suspicions were confirmed. 

A body was found.

Ronda Lautt.  Twenty-two.  Brunette, five-two, 120 pounds.  No Trouble her family is willing to admit and judging from their blank looks as she and Nathan delicately probed the matter, Audrey believes them.  Ronda was the second young woman to go missing and when Gloria gave Audrey and Nathan the results of the autopsy, their worst fears were confirmed.

Either they’re looking at a Trouble that sexually assaults and tortures a young woman—and that’s not outside the realm of possibility, Audrey admits—or else they’re looking for a mundane, run-of-the-mill serial killer.

One who seems to be targeting those women in Haven _without_ a Trouble.

*/*/*/*/*

Audrey’s feeling punch drunk and Nathan doesn’t look much better as he waits for her to test the temperature of his coffee before handing it to him.

“Wait another two minutes,” she says.

He gives her a weary nod and a grateful look then follows her into their office where he slumps into his chair behind his desk.  He’s been getting the same amount of sleep as she has since Ronda’s body was found, running down leads gone cold and re-interviewing witnesses who barely remember anything they might have seen when the young woman disappeared.

And now there’s a fourth one.

Nathan lets out a heavy sigh.  “I know where to start when it’s a Trouble,” he says.  “Where do we even begin with this one?”

Audrey gives him an encouraging smile.  “We do what we always do:  find leads and follow them.  At least there was a witness to Fenley’s disappearance.”

“Such as it is,” Nathan says.  “He said it seemed like she got into the car willingly.”

“Maybe she _was_ willing.  She’s twenty.  Maybe she’s off on a wild road trip with a friend and she just hasn’t called home yet.  Her sister may have panicked because of the other missing women.”

Nathan nods, scowling down at his cooling coffee.  “I hope that’s the case,” he says.

Audrey frowns at him.  “What’s really bothering you?”

Nathan sighs and takes a sip of coffee, then gives her a baleful look.  “These aren’t the first women to go missing in Haven since the Troubles returned.”

“I know,” she says.

“We always assumed they left because of the Troubles, not because they might have been abducted by a serial killer!”

“Most probably did leave because of the Troubles,” Audrey says, “and I’ve helped you investigate a few of them since I’ve been in Haven.  There was no evidence that their disappearance was anything other than just that.”  She takes a sip of her own coffee and drums her fingers against the top of her desk.  “How many women are we talking about?”

Nathan shrugs.

They stare at each other for a long, wordless moment, then, as one, turn to their computers and go to work.

*/*/*/*/*

Audrey has just finished flagging a sixth file to be pulled for review when Stan sticks his head inside their door.

“Hey,” he says, “you’re going to want to see this.”

*/*/*/*/*

‘This’ turns out to be a trio of men, dressed in uniforms that are all too familiar.  They’re all wearing black trousers tucked into black boots.  The two dark-haired men have on long-sleeved blue shirts, while the brown-haired man is in a long-sleeved gold shirt.  They all have triangular badges over their left breast.  One of the dark-haired men has pointy ears.

No red shirts here, Audrey thinks with a wry twist to her lips before she turns to Stan with a raised eyebrow.

“Trekkers going to a convention?” she asks.

The three men exchange puzzled glances while Stan shakes his head and smirks.

Nathan sighs.  “Are Danny and Walt out setting speed traps again?”

“Ask these gentlemen yourselves,” Stan says.

Audrey rolls her eyes but decides to humor all of them and says, “Okay, Captain Kirk, what’s going on?”

The three men look even more startled.

“You know who I am?” asks the one dressed as Kirk.  Audrey understands why he chose that character; he even _looks_ like a combination of the new and the original Kirk.

Nathan snorts.  “Everyone knows who you’re supposed to be,” he says, “we just don’t know what you’re doing here.  Kirk, Spock and McCoy, out for a drive in their Sunday best?”

The three men exchange increasingly confused looks.

“Recognizing you, I understand,” McCoy says, and Audrey admires his Georgia drawl, “but me?  And Spock? Have we been here before?”

“We have no record of previously landing on a planet at these coordinates in space, Doctor,” Spock says, his face and voice calm and expressionless.

Nathan heaves an impatient sigh.  “Look, I appreciate your dedication to the act, but while this is a small town, we’re actually a very busy police station.  Why are you here?”

“We are on a mission...Captain?” Spock says, and Audrey has to hand it to him:  he even sounds like Spock.  When cosplayers go all in, she thinks with grudging respect, they really go all in.

“Detective,” Nathan says then winces.  “Acting Chief of Police Nathan Wuornos and this is my partner, Detective Audrey Parker.”

The one dressed as Kirk nods and takes a step forward.  “I am Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise.  We are here in response to a distress signal we received from...”  He stops and blinks, suddenly disconcerted.  “...from…from someone who is very afraid and...”

“Held captive,” says Spock.

“In a cabin, I think,” says McCoy, his darkly handsome face scrunched into a scowl.

Audrey’s eyes widen and she exchanges a lightning quick look with Nathan.

Role-playing Trekkers or not, these men have suddenly taken on the appearance of a real, larger-than-life lead.

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Fenley (Haven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Non-graphic descriptions of disturbing situations. Mention of rape and abuse. Bondage and not in the sexual sense. Look, she’s being held captive by a murdering psychopath; things are going to be disturbing. **Please read responsibly.**

***/*/*/*/***

She doesn’t know where she is...or when her captor is going to wake up and come for her.

She feels much more lucid, more aware of herself and her surroundings now, but yesterday…or maybe it was today…feels surreal.  Her memory is spotty at best and when she told her captor that snippet of story about Spock, Kirk, and McCoy, she lost herself in her imagination the way she always does when life becomes too much to take, the stories she tells unspooling like a movie in front of her eyes.

But some things even imagination can’t erase and other things can be made worse:  she’s lost all track of time.  All she knows is she’s been handcuffed—hands and feet—to this bed for so long she’s soiled the bed twice and her stomach’s still cramping.  She doesn’t know what he used on her but it definitely intends to leave her body as quickly as it can.  If she wasn’t so terrified, she’d be disgusted and she tries not to think about infections and what happens when people are left to wallow in their own, well, _waste_ , especially when they’re naked.  Like she is.

Still...he hasn’t raped her yet.  Or hurt her.  Much.  She can at least be grateful for that even though she’s watched enough crime dramas to know he’s only playing with her, lulling her into a false sense of security, playing with her mind and her emotions until he breaks her.  And she _will_ break.  She has absolutely no doubt about that.  Even her stories won’t be able to save her now.

Still.  It was _weird_...

When she told him that Star Trek thing—not enough to even be called a story—yesterday?  A few hours ago? he had simply listened and when she was finished (it didn’t even end, just had McCoy and Spock and Kirk in the elevator on their way to the transporter room), her captor turned and walked out, staggering like he was drunk...or half-asleep.  She heard him snoring a few minutes later.

She doesn’t know what happened and she doesn’t care.  It’s a reprieve and she’ll take whatever delay of the inevitable she can get.  What she _does_ know is she can still hear him snoring and even if he’s playing a trick on her, trying to catch her attempting to escape, well, she needs to try anyway.

She wrinkles her nose.

If only to get away from her own stench.

She tugs at her restraints.  Handcuffs around her wrists; shackles around her ankles.  Even if she can slide her hands out of the cuffs, she’d have to think of a way to free her feet and she’s still so groggy she can’t think straight which makes her again wonder what he used on her and how he managed it. 

She shakes her head, telling herself to _focus_.

The last thing she remembers is getting into the car with Kip.  Even now, even like _this_ , his name gives her a feeling of warmth.  The handsomest boy in her high school graduating class, he never even looked at her before yesterday and then he stopped and offered her a ride to meet Jarell.  Not that he knew that’s what she was doing, of course.  She’d been walking because her own car is in the shop, and he saw her and thought she looked like she needed a lift.

She frowns.  She can’t even remember if she told him she was meeting her sister or not.  She just remembers her joy that he noticed her, radiating from her like rays from the sun, shining so bright she worried she was going to burn the white paint right off his car.

Her frown deepens as she searches her memory.

She was walking...Kip called her name...he asked if she needed a lift...she practically teleported into the car...she turned and smiled at him...

...nothing.

And this man is most definitely not Kip.

She feels a sudden spurt of fear.  Did he do something to Kip?  Oh, god—could he be dead, killed while trying to protect her?  Because she has no doubt he would have done all he could to prevent her from being taken by this guy.  Maybe Kip was the most popular guy in high school and maybe he’s never noticed her or even really spoke to her before, but he was the captain of the high school football team and his smile lights up a room and all the girls and some of the guys in their graduating class were in love with him.  He _can’t_ be dead!

She closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath.

Worrying about what might have happened to her crush isn’t helping her get out of this situation.  Whatever’s happened to him, wherever he is, he’s not in the room with her now and she has not yet heard anyone else in the house, just her captor and his...

She realizes with a sudden, sinking feeling that she no longer hears the snoring.

She catches her breath, afraid to open her eyes, but even more afraid not to.

If he’s going to do something to her, she wants to see it coming.

Her eyelids flutter up and she stares into the eyes of her captor.

He’s frowning at her, puzzled.

She freezes.  For a wild moment, she has the childish belief that if she stays completely still, he won’t be able to see her.

Then his expression clears.  “I’ve had my nap,” he says, “and now it’s time to play.”  He scrunches up his face, his moist, thick lips wriggling against each other into an expression of disgust.  “But look at the mess you’ve made of the bed.”  He shakes his head with a mock-mournful air.  “We can’t have that.”

His smile is almost beatific as he frees her hands and feet then yanks her from the bed.

Any thought of running for it are dashed when her legs go out from under her and she almost collapses into a heap on the floor.  Her legs are numb and her head is spinning, whether from hunger or still from the drugs he must have used on her, she can’t say.

She can’t even put up much of a struggle as he half-drags, half-carries her to the windowless bathroom and shoves her in the shower where she ends up in a heap on the floor.  He turns the water on and she gasps as the water rushes over her.

Then he turns and leaves her but even with the water pouring over her, she hears the door lock behind him.

She slowly unfurls, wobbling a little as she gains her feet.  She’s relieved to be able to clean herself, which she does quickly before her stomach cramps, sending her hurrying to the toilet.  As she sits, the water still running in the shower, she knows this isn’t an act of kindness on his part.  She’s watched enough crime dramas to know he just doesn’t want to rape a woman who’s covered in her own shit.

The tears gather and she begins to shake.

She’s going to die, she’s going to die, and there’s no way she can get out of this.

Not for the first time, she wishes she was more like Jarell.  Her sister is always strong.  Tough.  Never scared, never at a loss for words, never backed down from a fight.  Not like her, Fenley.  She escaped her bullies by disappearing into her stories, imagining the heroes she watches on TV or in the movies as she lets whatever her tormenters are saying wash over her.  Her stories are her sanctuary, the characters her saviours.

But even they won’t be able to save her now.

*/*/*/*/*

She finishes and realizes there’s no toilet paper.  She flushes the toilet and steps back into the shower to wash everything away.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, but she finally forces herself to step out once the water turns cold.  She leaves it running, hoping he’ll think she’s still there while she tries to channel her inner Jarell and be strong enough to think of something she can do to get herself out of this.

She eyes the medicine cabinet.  Mirrored.

She quietly opens the cabinet beneath the sink—empty—then looks at the towel rack—screwed into the wall and—she gives it a yank—solidly, too.  No towels but there is a shower curtain. If she took it down and wrapped her hand in it then broke the mirror—

The door unlatches and she jumps, backing as far from the door as she can get—which isn’t far.

“I know the water’s cold by now,” he says, crowding against her.

She flinches away from him.

“Turn off the water like a good girl, and maybe I’ll lengthen your chains for you.”

Fenley lowers her gaze, hoping he won’t see the sudden flash of rage that rushes over her.

He’s not that tall, she thinks. Maybe if she can get one good kick in—

“Don’t even try it,” he says and her widened eyes fly to his.

He smirks.

“You’re no brighter than any other woman, girl...and I’m stronger than I look.”

He reaches out and grabs her arm in a bruising grip, twisting it as he yanks her against him.

He leans in and she shudders as his lips brush against her ear.

“Do as I say and maybe I’ll let you go.”

_No_ _,_ _you won’t_ , she thinks but she turns as much as he will allow and bends to turn off the water.

When she sees the expression on his face, she knows why he wanted her to do that.  His smile is as wide and glistening wet as ever and she’s overcome with revulsion at the idea of this man touching her at all, let alone putting his mouth on her.  _And he will_ , she thinks, looking in his eyes.  _He wants to taste my terror._

She feels that spark of rage again as he yanks her out of the bathroom and pushes her back into the bedroom where he shoves her down on the bed and has her handcuffed again before she can do more than whimper while he yanks her arms and legs almost out of their sockets to do it.

She has more links on her chains and she sees the mattress has been cleaned...no, not just clean:  _new_ , and she can feel the crinkle of plastic beneath the obviously new sheet that still has traces of its sharp folds on its surface.  He must have a supply of both of them somewhere...

She almost starts gibbering at the thought then pulls herself up short.

_Don’t cry,_ she tells herself.  _Don’t scream.  That’s what he wants._

She grimaces and flinches as her captor reaches out and puts a hand on her breast.

“All fresh and clean,” he purrs, and licks his lips before he releases her.  He walks back to the chest of drawers beside the door and picks up a camera.

*/*/*/*/*

The camera flashes and flashes and flashes.  He pauses only long enough to force her into humiliating poses that expose her to his burning eyes while he licks his lips, leaving them glistening in the harsh overhead light of the bedroom.

She is finally crying, now, but not sobbing.  Not hysterical.  Not yet.  She can feel it building inside her, the urge to shout curses at him, to scream for help until her throat is raw and bleeding.

She suspects it wouldn’t do any good.  There’s no one within earshot.

He’s in no hurry.  He’s not nervous.

He’s prepared.

He’s done this before.

He’ll do this again.

He pauses to change her pose and she burns with humiliation, cringing away from his hands as much as her bound hands and legs allow.

He slaps her, sudden, sharp, stinging, and she forces herself to endure his touch as he poses her body the way he wants it.

His hands are clammy.  Sweaty.  Smooth.  She won’t get out of this alive but maybe there’s some way to make sure she takes a piece of him with her.  He’s done this before.  He’ll do it again.  Maybe she can think of a way to link him to her so if she’s found, they’ll find evidence of him on her.

She shudders.  Or _in_ her.

The camera flashes and flashes and flashes, blinding her, making her flinch which makes him smile, and she tugs at her restraints which makes him laugh and she _can’t stand it_.

She clenches her teeth against the scream of frustration and sheer fear that’s building in her chest, working its way up her throat and there’s nothing she can do to stop it just like she can’t stop him from taking pictures.

She opens her mouth, almost welcoming the relief of a scream.

Instead she rasps, “Let me tell you a story.”

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Richard "Rick" Castle (Castle)

  ***/*/*/*/***

Castle laughs as he heads to the bar to mix more drinks for everyone.  He and Kate are entertaining a friend of Kate’s from her brief time in the FBI.  Seeley Booth and his wife, Temperance Brennan, have become fast friends since Kate’s return to New York.  They’re here for a rare visit because Brennan is doing the talk show rounds, promoting her latest mystery novel.

They’ve been comparing their most gruesome cases and Castle hopes he’ll be able to remember even half of what they’ve been talking about so he can work some of it into his next novel.  As the trio bursts into another bout of laughter, Castle grins and thinks an outsider would find it difficult to understand what can be so amusing about murder.

He fills the glasses and carries them back to their guests.

“What are you working on now, Castle?” Booth asks as he takes both his drink and Brennan’s from Castle’s hands.  “Are you planning on putting one of your real-life cases into your next book?”

Castle shrugs.  “I’ve thought about it, but maybe I’ll use one of yours instead.”

“I don’t know.  Yours seems to have some pretty odd twists compared to ours.”

“True.  Or maybe I’ll make one up.”  Castle hands Beckett her drink and settles beside her on the couch, his arm around her shoulders.

“At least make up a case that isn’t quite so easy to figure out,” Brennan says with a haughty air.

Castle gives her an offended look.  “You’re the only person I know who figured out who did it after the first chapter!  Even Beckett didn’t figure it out until the third one!”

Brennan shrugs and smiles.  “You need to write better cases.”

Castle sits up and points an accusing finger at her.

“You’re just saying that because my last book knocked your last book off the bestsellers list.”

Brennan sniffs.  “The public is so fickle.”

Castle laughs.  He takes a sip of his drink and says, “Well, riddle me this:  a young girl is kidnapped.  Handcuffed naked to a bed.  Legs are restrained in iron shackles.  The perpetrator is taking pictures.  He’s practically drooling.  She’s in what looks like a log cabin.  She doesn’t know the cabin is located but she does know her captor seems extremely comfortable.  He’s not worried about being discovered.  She’s probably not going to get out of this.  What can she do to let investigators know she was there?”

Beckett, Booth and Brennan are all staring at him.

“That’s pretty dark, Rick,” Kate says, “and we’re supposed to be relaxing.”

Castle frowns.  “Considering we’ve just been talking about real cases—”  He catches sight of Kate’s expression and gulps.  “Maybe.”  He sees a quick flash of light from the corner of his eye and he turns to look.

Nothing.

“She’s desperate,” he says, his voice low and almost dreamy.  “His hands are sweaty.  Clammy.  Soft.  No callouses.  But strong.  Bruising.  He’s mid-thirties, possibly even in his forties.  His lips are thick and glisten.  He licks them constantly.  He’s taking his time.  She is completely at his mercy.  Even if she could knock him unconscious, she’s handcuffed to the bed and he’s put the keys on the chest of drawers by the door.  Too far away for her to reach.  She can’t hope to defeat him but can she take a piece of him with her once he’s finished with her?”

He catches the flash of something from the corner of his other eye and he snaps his head around to look.

Nothing.

“He’s taking pictures.  Lots and lots of pictures.  Posing her in ways meant to demean and humiliate.”

A flash.  A look.  Nothing.

“Rick?” he hears Beckett say, as if from a great distance.  “What’s going on?”

“She needs to fight,” he whispers.  “She needs to do what she can to get his DNA on her.  In her.  Bite him, if she can, take a chunk of his flesh and swallow it...just before he kills her, if she can.  Scratch him and dig in, force his DNA deep under her nails, far enough so he can’t get it just by cutting her nails.  Hope he leaves sweat on her body.”

Flash.  Look.  Nothing.

“Rick?”

Beckett’s voice is a fading echo.

“ _Rick?_ ”

*/*/*/*/*


	6. Fenley (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Her captor abruptly stops, his hands flopping to his side like they suddenly weigh a hundred pounds.

He yawns and sways, his eyelids fluttering closed then open then closed again.

He yawns again then turns and shuffles out the door, placing the camera on top of the chest of drawers beside the door, next to the keys to her restraints.

Moments later, she hears a thud and then snoring.

She stays as she is for long minutes, waiting for the snoring to end and her captor to return.  Then, when nothing else happens, she slowly adjusts her body so she’s no longer in the pose he had forced her into.

She makes herself as comfortable as she can, her skin prickling from the growing chill in the room.

She wonders if that means night is falling.

She wonders how long she’s been here.

There’s an extra loud snore from outside the room.

She wonders what the _fuck_ is going on.

*/*/*/*/*


	7. Nathan Wuornos (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

They separate the three cosplayers and begin with the man who is the obvious leader, even if he wasn’t currently dressed as Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise.  He simply exudes an air of command behind his boyish facade.

Spock is deadpan and placidly follows Stan to a separate interview room while McCoy, glowering darkly at everyone and everything, is put into an office with one of the other detectives.

Nathan and Audrey sit down across from Kirk, who’s assessing them just like they’re assessing him, an arrogant smirk on his face.

Audrey starts the tape recorder then leans forward and says, “For the record, please state your name, occupation, and current address.”

“My name is James T. Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise.”

Audrey sighs.  “Your real name.  Please.”

The man frowns and Nathan has a dawning certainty that his confusion is genuine.

“I am Captain James T. Kirk—”

“James T. Kirk is a character on a television show,” Audrey says, her voice flat.  “How did you know about our missing person?”

The man—Kirk, for lack of another name for now—sits back.  “I assure you, Detective, I am a real person, with a real starship parked in orbit around your planet.”

“Right,” Nathan says.  “Where were you born?”

“Iowa.”

“At least we’re finally getting somewhere,” Audrey mutters. “Town and date of birth?”

“Riverside, March 22, 2233.”

Nathan and Audrey stare expressionlessly at Kirk.  Kirk spreads his hands out in a shrug.

“You asked,” he says.

“Mr., uh, Kirk,” Audrey says, leaning forward, “I appreciate you’re in costume and you’re trying to stay in character, but I have a young woman I’m trying to find.  You and your buddies waltzed in here and claimed to have information about her abduction.  I strongly— _strongly_ —warn you that now is not the time to pretend to be someone you are not.”

Kirk leans forward as well, his blue eyes intent and serious and never wavering from Audrey’s.  “Trust me, Detective, I know. I am not pretending to be someone I’m not, and the less time you waste on trying to understand that, the more time you’ll have to actually investigate the crime and we can help that poor girl before things go from bad to worse.”

Audrey’s eyes narrow and Nathan can practically see her mind working.

He says, “Alright, Mr. Kirk, we’ll play it your way.  For now.  What can you tell us about the abduction?  Did you and your friends witness it?”

“No.  We received a distress signal.”

“A distress signal from a young woman who’s been kidnapped?  How did she contact your ship?”

For the first time, Kirk looks uncertain then he shakes his head.  “I don’t know.  All I know is she’s in trouble.  She needs help.  She needs _us_.”

*/*/*/*/*

Nathan follows Audrey out of the interview room and they huddle together in the hallway.

“What do you think?” he says.

She crosses her arms and shakes her head.  “He’s committed to his role-play, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe...”

She gives him a disbelieving stare. “You can’t think he’s really a fictional character come to life!”

Nathan rolls his eyes.  “This is Haven, Parker.  Have you met us?”

She pauses, blinking.  “Oh, god...”

Nathan glances around and steps closer, lowering his voice.  “Look, Captain Kirk in there is positive he received a distress signal from a girl who, if she’s been kidnapped the way we think, has no access to a phone let alone a communicator to a mythical starship roaming the universe...yet he knows she’s in trouble.”

“Or he’s a delusional witness.  Or he’s the one who kidnapped her.”

Nathan smiles a little at that.  “There’s an easy way to find out if he’s telling the truth.”

“Oh, really.”

Nathan leans closer, his smile widening.  “If he’s telling the truth, then we have a real live alien here in the station.  An alien with green blood.”

*/*/*/*/*

Gloria shakes her head as she ties the rubber band around Spock’s arm.

“Just when you think you’ve heard it all,” she says.  She glances up at him as she prepares the needle, her gaze searching.  “Gotta admit, you’ve done a good job.  There are a few differences, but for the most part you look just like him.”

Spock raises one eyebrow.  “I assure you, Doctor, this is truly how I look.”

“Huh.  Even the ears?”

His eyebrow inches higher.  “Yes, Doctor, even the ears.”

Gloria shakes her head and bends to the task of drawing a small tube of blood for testing.

She holds it up to the light.

There’s silence as everyone stares at the tinge of green glinting through the glass vial.

*/*/*/*/*


	8. Fenley (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Fenley worries at the problem of why her captor seems to have a need to sleep whenever she tells him a story...and they’re barely stories at that.  Nothing like the epic fanfics she writes and shares online.  Then she reminds herself that correlation does not equal causation.  Maybe he simply suffers from a severe form of narcolepsy.

Still, he hasn’t tried to stop her from telling her ‘stories’—which aren’t really stories so much as cries for help, asking those fictional characters who have sheltered her from the bullies of her childhood to protect her now, to lend her their strength and creativity and courage so she can make it through this.

 _I’m not going to make it through this_ , she thinks, despair overwhelming her.  She _knows_.

She’s watched enough crime dramas to know what men like this are capable of doing.

What this man is going to do to her.

The snoring outside stops and she hears snuffling and stirring.

He’s waking up.

She shivers.

Sooner or later, her luck is going to run out.

Still, beneath her fear is curiosity.

He shuffles into the bedroom, his eyes heavy, blinking slow and sleepy.  He looks at her like he can’t quite remember who she is or why she’s there, then recognition crawls over his face and he smiles.

Correlation is not causation.

But maybe...

“Let me tell you a story,” she whispers.

*/*/*/*/*


	9. Seeley Booth (Bones)

***/*/*/*/***

Castle’s head is practically spinning in a complete circle, the way he’s looking first in one direction then the other then back again.

“Castle,” Booth says, putting his glass down as he and Bones hurry to the other couch.  “Castle?”

Castle blinks and sways then says, “They’re gone.  He’s gone.”

“Who’s ‘they’?  Who is ‘he’?” Beckett asks, her lovely brown eyes worried as she looks at her husband, one hand rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.

“The flashes...and the kidnapper.  This is the second time it’s happened.”

Booth exchanges concerned looks with Bones and Beckett then turns back to Castle and says, “You’ve had...an episode like this before?”

Castle frowns, his blue eyes narrowed in confusion then he shakes his head.  “No.  _Him._ Going to sleep after she tells him a story.”

Booth sits back on his heels while Bones sits on the other side of Castle.  She says, “Let me take a look at you.”

Booth’s worry spikes when Castle makes no objection to Bones putting the back of her hand against his forehead, then checking his pulse.  Booth exchanges a glance with Beckett.

“Rick,” Beckett says in her soothing-yet-will-brook-no-bullshit voice, “what is going on?”

Castle shakes his head.  “I don’t know.  I can just...I can just see the room.  And this is the second time she’s told him a story and he’s gone to sleep immediately afterwards.”  His face scrunches up in confusion.  “It’s weird.”

Beckett looks at Bones who shakes her head.

“You don’t have a fever,” Bones says, “and your heartbeat is a little fast but steady.”  She peers intently into Castle’s eyes.  “What day is it?”

Castle gives her his crooked smirk.  “I’m not sick, Brennan, and I’m not losing my mind...although maybe I am.”  He frowns.  “Why aren’t any of you seeing it, too?”

Booth scowls, his patience wearing thin.  “Seeing what?”

Then he hears something, in front of him, something that sounds like...

“Did you just snore?” he demands.

The three people on the couch stare at him.

Then Bones turns to Beckett and says, “It seems to be contagious.”

*/*/*/*/*


	10. Fenley (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Fenley stops speaking and stares at her captor, her breath caught in her throat.

Her captor blinks, his shoulders slumping, his eyelids drooping.  He yawns then turns and shuffles out of the bedroom.

She hears a thud as he hits the floor then snoring a moment later.

_Huh._

*/*/*/*/*


	11. Leonard "Bones" McCoy

***/*/*/*/***

McCoy doesn’t know what to make of any of it.  He’s standing with Kirk and Spock in a boardroom in the police station in the middle of this speck of a town.  Their previously confiscated phasers have been placed on the table in the middle of the room and he’s just been told he’s a fictional character made flesh.

He’s used to fantastical situations but _this_...creeps him out.  Like those damn transporters have finally managed to scramble his molecules enough to actually make people believe he doesn’t exist despite the evidence of their own eyes.

Spock says, “These ‘Troubles’ are illogical and I cannot see how something that has no discernable form or purpose can create three biological entities from nothing.  It is much more likely we have inadvertently entered a wormhole of some kind and are now in a parallel dimension.”

The blonde detective, Audrey, stares at them, her remarkable grey-blue eyes wide, clear, and broadcasting ‘horseshit’ with every word that comes out of Spock’s mouth.

“That may very well be,” she says, her voice dry, “but the Troubles are very real and more powerful than you seem willing to admit, and we can prove that to you, given time.  For a...well, Vulcan of science, you seem to have made conclusions based on facts not in evidence.”

Kirk barks a laugh and slaps a hand on Spock’s shoulder.  “She has you, there, Spock!”

Audrey exchanges a glance with her partner, Nathan:  tall, lanky, all cheekbones and arms and legs.  McCoy has noticed he says little but sees much, although there’s a warmth in his eyes when he looks at Audrey that he may not realize others see as well.

“I told you we shouldn’t have told them,” Nathan mutters.

Audrey shakes her head.  “I think everyone needs to know the truth, otherwise we may never find her.”

McCoy scowls.  “Who is the missing girl?”

Audrey considers him thoughtfully and for a moment, she reminds him of Christine, back on the Enterprise.  He wonders if Chapel’s worried about him then pushes his thoughts away.  Ridiculous, he grumbles to himself.  He’s too old to be mooning about like a lovesick teenager.

One who, according to the two cops in front of them, doesn’t actually exist.

The thought sends a spurt of fear through him.

Audrey opens her mouth and he holds up a hand.

“Hold that thought,” he growls and touches the communicator on his chest, the one thing that wasn’t confiscated when they were placed in separate rooms.  “McCoy to Enterprise.”

Silence.

He scowls.  “McCoy to Enterprise.”

Silence.

He exchanges a glance with Kirk and Spock and they each try hailing the ship in their turn.

Nothing.

Nathan’s watching them, his head cocked to one side.  “Do your phasers work?”

Kirk’s eyebrow goes up.  “Do you have a target I can use?”

Nathan shrugs.  “Sure.  Me.”  His smile is fleeting.  “Just make sure it’s set on stun.”

“Nathan,” Audrey says, her voice sharp.  She turns to McCoy and the others.  “Nathan’s Trouble is that he can’t feel anything.  He can’t get it through his head that that doesn’t make him immune to injury just because he can’t feel it.”

Nathan’s eyes widen as Audrey levels her glare on him.  “Hey, it’s faster than taking them to the shooting range.”

McCoy rolls his eyes.  “You’re as reckless as Kirk,” he mutters and Nathan looks both surprised and amused.

“I’m far from reckless,” he says, “I’m just practical.  If you have a better suggestion, one that won’t damage my station or my officers, that would be great.”

Kirk looks offended. “You almost seem like you don’t respect my aim.”

Audrey rolls her eyes and puts her coffee cup down on the table with a thud. “Fine.  Shoot that.”

Kirk picks up a phaser from the table, takes aim, and presses the button.

Nothing.

McCoy feels the first cold tendrils of dread curl in his stomach.

Still, just because they can’t contact the ship and their weapons don’t work doesn’t mean they’re not being monitored by the Enterprise.  It doesn’t mean they don’t actually exist!

He hopes.

Still Kirk’s face is almost comical as he looks at the phaser in his hand, tries it again, then is reduced to that age-old human approach to fixing something that refuses to work:  he hits it with the palm of his hand.

“Captain,” Spock says with a thread of amusement even in his voice, “I am afraid that will not solve the problem.”

Kirk glares and opens his mouth but McCoy gives him a warning look before he steps forward and says, “Well, it looks like we’re here for the time being and even if we were called here by this...uh...Trouble, we _are_ here.  Now, back to my question:  who is the girl?”

Nathan says, “Fenley Slavick.  Twenty.  Last seen getting into a white car yesterday afternoon and has not been seen since.”

Kirk’s smile is mocking.  “Only one missing person?”

Audrey’s smile is fleeting and cold.  “For now.  She is, however, the fourth abduction in as many months.  We just found the second girl who went missing three days ago. 

“What was left of her,” Nathan mutters.

Audrey grimaces.  “Gloria put her time of death at twenty-four to forty-eight hours before we found the body.  Whoever took her...‘liked’ her enough to keep her alive for three months.”

“And the ‘ways’ he ‘liked’ her were all too evident,” Nathan adds, his voice bleak.

Kirk’s face is serious now.  “What do you want us to do?”

Audrey and Nathan exchange a glance that is filled with helplessness then Audrey says, “Tell us everything that you know about Fenley.”

Now it’s McCoy’s turn to look at his companions.  He spreads his hands in a confused shrug.  “We don’t know anything.  At all.”

Nathan sighs and gestures for everyone to sit down at the table, with Audrey beside him across from the Enterprise crew.

He says, “Tell us about this distress signal.  Tell us how you got to Haven.”

Kirk frowns.  “There’s not much to tell.  The distress signal didn’t have any words.  Uhura was able to hone in on its general location and I gathered an away team to beam down and investigate.”  He gestures at Spock and McCoy and shrugs.  “Here we are.”

Nathan raises an eyebrow.  “No words?”

“No,” McCoy says, “only emotions.  It was visceral.  Terrified.  Hopeless and helpless and panicking.  _Desperate._ ”

Audrey says, “That explains how you knew the situation was an emergency.  You also said she was being held in a log cabin?”

The three men look startled.

Kirk says, “That was...a guess?”  He turns to the others with a frown.

McCoy’s brow is furrowed as he tries to remember what happened on the bridge when they were listening to the distress signal.  “There was nothing said, just an impression of being in a room with rough-hewn wood on the walls.”

Spock nods.  “It was an impression, and a conclusion based on facts not in evidence.”

Audrey’s lips curve into a smile but before she can say anything more they’re interrupted by a knock at the door and a police officer poking her head around it.

“Nathan?  Audrey?  There are some people out here, saying they have information about our missing person.”

Nathan and Audrey move as one, surging to their feet.

“Witnesses?” Nathan says.

The officer shakes her head.  “FBI and the NYPD.”

*/*/*/*/*


	12. Audrey Parker (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

There are two men and two women waiting for them at the front desk.  The men are both tall, dark and handsome, although one has black hair and more classically handsome features while the other has brown hair and a more quirky, crooked cast to his features.  Still ruggedly handsome, though, Audrey admits before turning to consider the women, both of whom are beautiful brunettes who exude confidence and competence behind their coolly assessing gazes.  The black-haired man is dressed in a dark suit and tie, with a belt buckle that’s discreetly ostentatious while the brown-haired man is much more business casual. 

They all seem vaguely familiar but Audrey can’t quite place them.

Nathan steps forward, his hand outstretched.  “I’m Nathan Wuornos, Acting Chief of Police.  This is my partner, Detective Audrey Parker.”

The black-haired man shakes first Nathan’s hand then Audrey’s.  “Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI, and my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan.”  He turns to the other two, and says, “This is Detective Kate Beckett of the New York Twelfth Precinct, and her partner, Richard Castle.”

Bells are going off in Audrey’s head but she can’t say why.

“What can we do for you?” she says.

For a moment, something like confusion crosses over their visitors’ faces then Castle says, “Have you received a missing persons report?”

Nathan and Audrey exchange a glance.

“Any person in particular?” Nathan asks, his voice dry.

Three of the four people in front of them all look at an almost-sheepish Castle.  Then he sets his jaw, looks at Audrey and Nathan, and says, “A woman.  Late teens, early twenties.  She’s being held captive in a rustic cabin.  The man is between thirty and forty-five.  Smooth, clammy hands.  Wet, glistening lips.  Likes to take lots of pictures.  Booth thinks he snores.  The man, not Booth.”  He stops and shifts uncomfortably.  “We’re here to help you find her.”

Nathan and Audrey exchange another glance filled with dawning suspicion.

“And how do you _know_ all this?” Audrey asks.

Castle looks even more hunted as his companions continue to glare at him again.

“We...had a vision?” Castle says with a raised eyebrow and a semi-hopeful air.

“Speak for yourself,” Beckett mutters beneath her breath.

Nathan and Audrey stare at them for long, silent moments before Nathan turns to Officer Rafferty, the cop who pulled them out of their conversation with Kirk, Spock and McCoy.  “Rafferty, take our guests to one of the interrogation rooms.” He turns back to their visitors.  “Give us a minute to go through the reports that have come in.”

Brennan frowns.  “Wait.  We only brought Castle here to humor him.  Are you saying you _believe_ him?”

Audrey’s smile is coolly professional.  “Let’s just say we’re intrigued.”

Castle’s face lights up with a wide, lop-sided grin before he turns to the others and says, “I told you this was important!”

Beckett rolls her eyes.  “It’s insane is what it is.”

Booth says, “I did hear something...”

Brennan says, “Mass hallucinations are very real, Booth.”  She turns to Castle.  “I still say you need a doctor more than the police.”

“Well, it so happens we have a doctor in the boardroom if one is needed,” Audrey says briskly.  “Officer Rafferty?”

Their four visitors follow after her, still bickering.

Nathan waits until they’re out of sight before he turns to Audrey and leans a little closer.  Audrey, as always, softens a little.

“A memory-wiping Trouble?” he mutters.  “Along with whatever the hell Trouble caused our other guests to appear in Haven?”  He scowls.  “Could there be _two_ Troubles at work here?”

Audrey shrugs as she shakes her head.  “Too soon to tell,” she murmurs.  “Let me run a couple of background checks on these guys while you humor them by pretending to go through the missing persons reports.”

*/*/*/*/*

Audrey finishes checking the databases she needs and sits back in her chair with a sigh.

“No FBI agents by those names,” she says, “or New York cops.”

Nathan gives her an absent nod and says, “But those names are out there in the world.”

Audrey frowns.  “What do you mean?”

Nathan looks up at her.  “They’re characters in two television shows.  Crime dramas.  Unrelated TV shows, for the record, but remarkably similar.”

“ _What?_ ”

Nathan gestures for her to come over to his desk and she does, leaning over his shoulder to read what’s on the screen.  Her frown deepens as she scans the short descriptions of the shows.  Both are crime procedurals, albeit highly fictionalized.  One is about a best-selling author who teams up with a New York detective, and the second is an FBI agent who teams up with a forensic anthropologist...who is also a best-selling author.  Both series are touted as black comedies with a strong will-they-or-won’t-they component.  She shakes her head when she gets a look at the actors portraying the main characters.

“Huh,” she says, straightening.  “Looks like they both decided on ‘will they’.”

Nathan gives her a heated look that rocks her back before he quickly looks away and says, “In a way, I’m relieved.  We’re still only dealing with one Trouble…and the last thing we need is the real FBI and the NYPD investigating a case in Haven.”

Audrey pushes her hormones back where they belong and says, “Hey!  I thought I was FBI when we first met!”

“That was bad enough.”

She laughs.

Nathan grins then sobers.  “So definitely a Trouble that manifests fictional characters into reality?”

“Must be,” she says, “or we have an entire group of people trolling the Haven PD.”

Nathan shrugs.  “Not outside the realm of possibility either.  Have you talked to Duke yet today?”

Audrey chuckles.  “Only thing is:  they’re all here claiming to have even more details about our missing girl, even though none of them seem to know her name.”

“Or know how she was abducted.”

“Or where, exactly, she is.”

“So what good are they?”

“Well, these four seem to have more details, including a description of the man who’s holding Fenley.  Let’s see if we can do anything with what they can tell us.”

“And if we can’t?”

Audrey’s smile is slow and slightly wicked.  “They’re all great detectives, fictional or otherwise.  We may as well use them while they’re here.”

*/*/*/*/*


	13. Fenley (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Fenley frowns up at the ceiling, listening to her captor’s snoring, trying to work through what’s going on.

She’s a child of Haven; she’s heard the whispers these last few years.  She remembers Matt West and how he died in a gas main explosion out in the middle of nowhere.  She knows Vickie, who used to draw all the time and win all the art awards in school but who hasn’t entered a single drawing into a show in years.  She remembers when all the male Glendowers left town although nobody talks about why or where they’ve gone.  Plus the lighthouse has collapsed how many times now?  Most recently from that earthquake that happened around the time Chief Wuornos disappeared at sea...

She shakes her thoughts away and focuses on what’s important right now:  _telling something what she calls a story puts her captor to sleep_.

It can only be a Trouble.  There’s no other explanation...

...only her family has never _been_ Troubled!

As far as she knows.

She barely remembers her parents, really, and Jarell has been more mother than sister to her for the last fifteen years even before all four grandparents followed her parents into the grave.  Died of broken hearts, Jarell told her once, when Fenley was older and her sister was relaxed enough to let her bitterness seep through.

She wonders if Jarell will die of a broken heart, too, because of her.  Because of _this_.

She closes her eyes and pushes the thought and the guilt away.

Jarell is tough.  Strong.  No broken heart for her...although Fenley winces at how _angry_ her sister must be right now.  And scared, even if she would rather be paraded naked through the streets of Haven than admit it.

Fenley almost feels sorry for her captor.  If... _when_ he kills her, he better get as far away from Haven as he can because Jarell won’t rest until she finds him.  And makes him pay.

The snoring stops and she hears movement in the other room.

He steps into the doorway, a confused scowl on his face.

Well, she thinks, gathering what courage she can around her, now is as good a time as any to test whether she’s truly Troubled or if this has all been some kind of coincidence or if he’s playing with her mind.  He’s in Haven, too.  He may even be Troubled himself.  Maybe his Trouble is an ability to look like somebody else.

She’ll think about _that_ later.

Her captor smiles, his eyes gleaming as he reaches once again for the camera.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she blurts.

He stops and turns to look at her, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.  “You just went.”

She doesn’t have to pretend to be terrified, shrinking away from him as she stammers, “It’s...whatever you gave me...”

Thankfully, her body chooses that moment to let loose a growling, noxious fart and Fenley would be screaming with laughter at the disgusted expression on her captor’s face if she wasn’t on the verge of screaming in abject terror.

“ _God_ ,” he mutters as he snatches up the keys and hastily unlocks her ankles and then her wrists.

His hand clamps around her bicep as he hauls her to her feet.  She winces at the pain.  She’ll have bruises upon bruises on her arms when this is done.

He yanks her after him and hurries towards the bathroom.

 _Now or never_ , she tells herself when they’re halfway through the living room.

“ _Let me tell you a story!_ ”

*/*/*/*/*


	14. Tony Stark (Iron Man)

***/*/*/*/***

“I think I would just cut the wire,” Tony says and smirks at Pepper.

Pepper rolls her eyes.  “Are you taking this game seriously or not?  Wait, what am I saying?”

Tony gives her a cheeky grin.  “You forgot who you were talking to, didn’t you?”

“For one blissful moment, I thought I was talking to a normal human being, yes.”

Tony’s smile widens as he sidles closer, sliding his hands around Pepper’s slender waist.  She moves readily into his arms while she struggles to maintain her stern expression.

Tony cocks his head as he sees the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“You would be bored with a normal human being and you know it,” he says but despite his best efforts there’s a thread of uncertainty in his voice.

Pepper softens and smiles.  “Yes,” she says with a mournful sigh, “yes, I would be.”

That deserves a kiss and he spends a few blissful moments doing just that and thanking every lucky star he can think of for the woman in his arms.

Pepper finally pulls away—reluctantly, Tony’s smugly pleased to see—and says, “I promised the steering committee I would have these team building exercises ready for tomorrow.”

“That was your first mistake,” he says, nuzzling against her neck.

She tilts her head back to give him better access, and says, “You promised to test them out with me.”

“That was your second mistake.”

Pepper laughs at that and takes a step away from him.  She laughs again when she catches sight of his pout.

“This won’t take long,” she says.  “I would just like to get a more...creative take on these team-building problems.  Something that will really get everyone’s juices flowing—”  She flings up her hand.  “Don’t say it!”

Tony grins as he grabs her accusing finger and kisses the tip of it.  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says breezily.  “All right,” he sighs as he turns and saunters to the bar, “the sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be able to return to more pleasurable pursuits.”

“You’re learning,” Pepper says with a wryly affectionate smile.  She nods when he lifts up a bottle of wine, his brows raised in question.

“Hit me with it,” he says as he uncorks the bottle.

“All right.  You’re being held captive in what looks like a rustic cabin, most likely in the middle of a dense forest in the middle of nowhere.  You’ve been tied to the bed for hours, naked, but your captor is finally taking you to use the bathroom.  What do you do next?”

Tony’s eyes widen as Pepper reads and he takes in her grimace of discomfort as she finishes speaking.

“You need to have a talk with whoever came up with that,” he says with a doubtful note in his voice.  “I don’t know if my Stark Industries corporate staff should really be talking about kidnapping people.  I didn’t think the employee satisfaction survey was _that_ bad...”

Pepper’s frowning, her eyes a little vacant and confused.  “I don’t remember this being on the list when I read the e-mail.”

Tony shakes his head as he hands her a glass of wine.  “Well, I think you need to definitely veto that one.”  He pauses, frowning, and for a moment, he thinks he can almost see the rough-hewn walls and feel a bruising grip on his arm.  He’s confused.  If this works, she won’t _be_ in the bathroom so why isn’t she asking him about how to get free here, in the living room, and then he sees _him_ :  face slack, eyes wide and staring and glazed.  His grip hasn’t loosened but he isn’t dragging him...her...anywhere.

“Tony?” Tony hears Pepper say.  “Tony?”

“If this works,” he whispers, “get as far away from the cabin as you can as quickly as you can.  Use the handcuffs to tether him to the bed...although he might wake up if you touch him.”  He looks at _him_ again, taking in the size and weight of him.  Not fit by any means, a gut that hangs over his belt.  Too big to drag anywhere, least of all onto a bed, once he’s asleep and nothing but dead weight.  “No.  If this works, shackle him wherever he is if you can, touch him as little as possible, or just leave him.  Find clothes.  Grab some water and food.  The best thing you can do is get out, get out fast, and get out of sight.  That’ll buy you time to get help.”

_He_ slowly blinks and Tony’s own eyes widen as he leans back a little.  Tony hastens to say, “If getting to the bathroom and making a knife out of a shard of glass works, I mean.  There are no towels but there’s a shower curtain.  Use your elbow to break the glass.  The elbow of your off hand, of course.  As least then you won’t be so vulnerable when he comes back to take you out of the bathroom.” Tony keeps a close watch on the man’s face, looking for a sign that his words are being heard.  “It’s not much but it’s the best you can do under the circumstances.”

“ _Tony!_ _”_ Pepper says.  “Who on earth are you talking to?”

*/*/*/*/*


	15. Fenley (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Fenley blinks, feeling surprisingly calm and almost peaceful as she finishes speaking.  She’d been lost in the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.  Tony Stark has always been one of her favourites and simply seeing him banter with Pepper has given her a moment of respite from the situation she’s facing. 

But now she’s back in the cabin, and the only thing she feels is her captor’s hand still clamped around her arm, and the only thing she really sees is _him_ , standing in front of her.

He’s completely still, staring at her, and she holds her breath.

 _Has he been playing with me_ , she wonders, a bubble of hysteria beginning to claw its way up her throat.  Has he been twisting Haven’s Troubles into a new form of torturous cat-and-mouse mind game, knowing she, herself, is not Troubled?

Then he releases her, his hands hanging at his side as he turns and stumbles to the couch and collapses on to it.

His eyes close and he begins to snore.

And she’s free.

Her legs are numb and her stomach really does feel like she’s going to need the toilet soon, but she’s free.

And naked.  No shoes.  And no idea where she is.

Or how much time she has before he wakes up.

That last thought gets her moving.

She moves as quickly and quietly as she can.  She realizes he put the key to her restraints in his pocket and she wastes precious moments scowling down at him, trying to decide if she should chance waking him by digging for it.  She finally decides against it.

If she can be out and gone long enough to be out of sight of the cabin before he wakes up then he won’t know in which direction she headed.

She hopes.

She does a quick search of the cabin but can’t see her clothes anywhere and so she takes the sheet from the bed and wraps it around her, toga-style.  The kitchen is bare of food, but with a variety of gleaming, obviously sharp knives that make her stomach lurch in the opposite direction of the drugs.  She shudders then closes her mind to the implications and keeps moving.

She finds a plastic bag and two empty water bottles.  She grabs both bottles because depending on where she is, they might come in handy....or they might have her captor’s DNA on them.  She tucks them away into the bag then her stomach cramps, making her wince and reminding her that her request to use the bathroom was only half a lie.  She’s still okay for now but...she hurries into the small room and grabs toilet paper and adds it to the bag.

She does one final scan through the cabin but, like her clothes, her shoes are nowhere to be found, so she pulls on the sneakers she finds in the front hall.  They’re far too big but better than nothing.

She eases the door open and slips outside, closing it as quietly as she can behind her.

She takes only a moment to get her bearings, such as they are:  nothing but trees.  Just this cabin in the middle of the thick forest that surrounds Haven.  There’s a rough trail worn through the forest floor by the wheels of vehicles that starts at the front step of the cabin and immediately winds out of sight.

She does a quick circuit of the cabin, but her rising hopes are immediately dashed to the ground. 

There’s no car or truck in sight, no barn or garage, either, where one might be hidden, and no tracks or trail into the forest other than the one leading to the cabin.  She’ll think about what all of this means once she’s put some distance between her and the man behind her:  she has more immediate problems to solve.  She’s going to be on foot, in the thick forests of Maine with no idea where she is in relation to Haven—

She looks up at the rapidly darkening sky.

—and in the dark.

She strikes off down the trail and hopes she can at least find a main road before her captor wakes and catches up to her, or before she’s forced to spend the night out here in the woods.

*/*/*/*/*


	16. Audrey Parker (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

They decide against putting their four new visitors in with their first three. Instead, Nathan asks for the case files he and Audrey had flagged to be pulled and sets the four to scouring through the ones that had no hints of Troubles about them.  Beckett and Castle are already creating the murder board while Booth and Brennan scowl over the sometimes sparse information in the files.

They leave them in the break room and Nathan closes the door behind them and says, “I’m glad we decided against telling them they’re figments of someone’s imagination.  We shouldn’t have told the others.”

Audrey grimaces.  “It’s too late now, unless you want to see if there’s a Trouble that can send us back in time to make a different decision.”

“Let’s not push it.”

Audrey smiles at him as he opens the door for her.

“Damn it, Jim!  I’m a doctor not a detective!”

Nathan’s grin widens at the words and at the glower McCoy levels in their direction.

“I see Captain Kirk has had the same thoughts we did,” Nathan says.

“We know less than nothing about criminal investigations,” McCoy snaps.

“It’s about looking at evidence,” Audrey says, “and following it to a logical conclusion.”

They all turn to look at Spock who raises an eyebrow.

“Not exactly scientific,” Nathan says, “but I think you’ll find it familiar.”

Audrey says, “We also have new visitors to Haven, who are just like you.”

Kirk’s eyes widen.  “Allegedly fictional people?”

Audrey nods.  “They’re detectives, lead characters in their own television shows.  We haven’t told them they’re fictional people.”

McCoy rolls his eyes.  “Why do we rate?”

“We made the best decision with the information we had,” Audrey says.  “We didn’t know there would be more.  Besides, you’re all used to parallel dimensions and time travel and alien life forms with different cultures and ideas.  If anyone can handle being told they’re fictional beings made real, it’s you.”

Spock says, “The most logical conclusion is a wormhole—”

Audrey waves Spock’s words away.  “Yes, maybe.  We don’t really know how the Troubles work or what’s caused them.  None of that matters now, anyway.”  She looks at her watch.  “It’s going to be dark soon, and we need to find places for all of you to stay.  We do want you back here in the morning, though, to help us go through files and to give us as many details as you can about what you gleaned from that distress signal.  The other four will do the same—they seem to actually know what the perp looks like—and with luck, we’ll be able to find a suspect even if we can’t find Fenley’s exact location.”

Kirk, McCoy and Spock are staring at them with almost identical expressions of disbelief, even if Spock’s is expressed only through a slighlty different angle to his eyebrows.

“You really believe these Troubles are real,” Kirk says, his voice flat.

“You really believe you’re from the future,” Nathan says, his voice equally flat.  “Which one of us sounds crazier?”

Kirk stares for another a long moment then smirks.  “Good point.”

Audrey says, “Come on. I’ll have Rebecca take you to my loft over the Grey Gull.  You can spend the night there.  Duke—my landlord and our friend—”  Nathan snorts at that but Audrey ignores him.  “—already knows you’re on your way.  You may want to borrow some clothes if you’re going to the bar or you’ll never hear the end of it.”  She looks at Spock’s ears.  “Just laugh those off.”

Spock looks as offended as a Vulcan can look.  “I do not laugh, Detective.”

“...right.”

Nathan and Audrey lead the three males out of the boardroom and into the squad room, where they find a willowy strawberry blonde woman with an exasperated expression watching a black haired man with a goatee and wearing sunglasses as he talks to the sergeant at the front desk.

“Do you know who I am?” the man is saying with all the arrogant swagger of someone who always gets what he wants.  “I am Tony Stark and I am here with information about a missing person.”

He notices Nathan and the others.  Stark removes his sunglasses and surveys them all with a deadpan expression.  His gaze lingers on the Starfleet officers.

“Nice costumes,” he drawls and nods at Spock. “Like the ears.”

“Tony,” the woman admonishes, and steps forward with a professional smile.  “You must forgive Mr. Stark. He’s had a rather upsetting day.” She gives Mr. Stark a warning look.  “He’s convinced he has information about a missing person.”  She lowers her voice and leans closer.  “If you can just humor him then send him on his way...”

“Send me away?  She’s going to make a break for it and you think I should be _sent away_?”

Nathan stares at the couple for another long moment then looks at Audrey.

She sighs.

“I’ll call Duke,” she says.

“No,” Nathan says.

She shakes her head, already pulling out her phone. “It’s going to be another long night and we need all the help we can get.”

*/*/*/*/*

It doesn’t take long to question Tony Stark—Iron Man himself, Audrey thinks with a light-headedness that might be born from being star struck or from lack of sleep.  No need to search the Internet for his name, or Pepper’s, or Stark Industries.  The character that started off the most successful series of superhero movies ever is easily recognizable.

Stark has more details about the perp than even Castle does:  overweight, brown hair, brown eyes, completely non-descript but stronger than he first appears. 

And Fenley is telling the perp stories that put him to sleep.

“That’s not weird, is it?” Tony says, with his characteristic nervous energy.  “Do you find that weird?”

“Not as weird as you think,” Nathan mutters and Tony visibly relaxes.

They send Castle, Booth, Brennan, and Beckett to the bed and breakfast with Stan, Tony and Pepper to the Cape Rouge with Walt, and the Starfleet officers leave with Rebecca for the Grey Gull.

“This is going to get confusing,” Nathan says once they’re alone.  “What do you think will happen if they run into each other at the Gull?”

Audrey rubs her hands over her face with a tired sigh.  “That’s tomorrow’s problem.  Nathan, if Tony is right and Fenley’s Trouble is she can put people to sleep by telling stories...”

“Then we’re dealing with _two_ Troubles.”  Now it’s Nathan’s turn to sigh.  “I’ll have Danny bring in the sister in the morning.  In the meanwhile, we both need to get some sleep or we’re going to drop.”

Audrey scowls.  “I loaned out my loft to the Starfleet boys.”

Nathan shrugs.  “You can crash at my place,” he says, looking everywhere but at her.  “I have an extra bed.”

Audrey’s stomach swoops.  She should know better but she finds herself agreeing, almost too eagerly, to the suggestion.

They leave the station and step out into the darkness of a Maine night.  They pause on the steps and stare up at the stars.

“If Tony’s right,” Nathan says, his voice soft, “and Fenley’s made a break for it...”

Audrey nods.  “Then she’s out in the forest right now.”

They stand silent, letting the black sky and the stars and the moon press in on them.  Audrey thinks of the dark quiet of the forest outside of town and shivers.

Nathan says, “Well, at least the wendigos are out of town.”

Audrey looks at him, her heart clenching with such yearning, she’s almost dizzy with it.  She hopes she hides it behind her grin as she says, “Thank god for small favours.”

*/*/*/*/*


	17. Fenley (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

She doesn’t get far before whatever drugs he gave her once again force their way out of her body.  She wastes precious moments scrambling as far as she can from the trail and ripping the sheet off before she loses the battle and her bowels take over.  She can only pray she’s far enough away from the trail, and out of sight, with enough trees and underbrush to hide her in case he comes looking for her.

She wrinkles her nose.

Although he might _smell_ her before he sees her.

She does what she needs to do and curses herself for not filling the bottles with water before she left.

At least she grabbed toilet paper, she thinks with a rueful grimace as she cleans herself as best she can and covers everything with handfuls of dirt and leaves, then grimaces as she uses leaves to wipe her hands.  Well, she tells herself as she re-wraps the sheet around herself, at least she kept _that_ clean by the simple expedient of ripping it off her.  Jarell will be proud of her for that, if nothing else.

_A whole new meaning to ‘does a bear shit in the woods’,_ she thinks as she finishes tying the sheet into an approximation of a pantsuit.  _Who knew it really meant ‘does a bare woman shit in the woods?’_

She finds herself silently giggling, an hysterical edge to it even though it’s only in her mind.  It’s not that funny, she thinks, it’s not that funny at all, but she’s giddy with relief that she’s at least out of her shackles and out of that cabin, her captor snoring behind her.

_For how long?_

The thought gets her moving.

She picks up her plastic bag with the water bottles (empty!  _moron_!) then cautiously returns to the trail and resumes walking  She worries on the fact she’s taking the most obvious route to safety.  He’ll know that’s what she’ll do, too, and she doesn’t know how long he’ll stay asleep.  She should run, only she doesn’t know how far she has to go, the sneakers she’s wearing are a bit too big and slip easily off her feet, she doesn’t know how long it’s been since she ate, her diarrhea may not be finished, it’s now fully dark and she has no flashlight although at least the moon is full, and she has _no water_.

She curses herself again.  She should have risked waking him and run the taps.  _And risk washing away his DNA?_   She shakes her head.  DNA is far in the future.  Her first priority should have been her own survival.

Then she hears him, lumbering down the worn path behind her, and that sends her scurrying into the thick forest beside the trail.

She goes to ground beneath a pine tree with heavy, thick boughs that touch the earth.  She peers out and waits.

He hurries past, and even from this limited viewpoint, she can see he’s limping a little.  He jumps and quietly yelps with pain and she assumes it’s because a pebble or branch or pine needle has dug deep into his shoeless foot.  Fenley can’t help but smile a little at that.

He hurries out of sight and she waits, not daring to move in case he hears or sees her before she can get out of sight again.  He didn’t have a flashlight but the moon is full and bright enough that the sheet she’s wearing will likely glow like a gigantic firefly.

She waits for what feels like hours but may have only been minutes and then he’s coming back, muttering what she assumes is a litany of curses beneath his breath.

He disappears from sight and she stays where she is until she hears the faint sound of a slamming door.

She eases out from beneath the tree, edges her way back to the trail, then follows it as quickly as she can, doing her best to muffle the sounds of her own footsteps so she can hear him once he’s back out searching for her.

Every noise makes her jump and it doesn’t help that, even under a full moon, there’s nothing quite as dark and unnerving as a Maine forest at night.  At least they caught those wild animals that attacked a bunch of people a while ago...or at least she hasn’t heard of any new attacks for a long time.  That makes her feel a little better.

She rounds another curve of the trail then slows, squinting as she tries to understand what she’s seeing.  The space ahead of her seems _blank_ , somehow, the trail ending abruptly, like something has cut it off.

She creeps closer then stands and stares at the featureless grey wall in front of her.  She cautiously reaches out a hand then snatches it back.  A gate?  Maybe wired with cameras and motion detectors?  Armed so when she touches it, it either jolts her or sends alarms ringing in the cabin?  She backs away and scowls.  Then she turns to her left and follows the odd, grey thing through the trees, long enough to know that it isn’t going to end any time soon.

She stops and scowls.  She picks up a branch and pokes the wall with it.  The wall is solid, most likely concrete, and she isn’t thrown back by an electric charge although she has no doubt she’s just set off alarms somewhere.

She tosses aside the stick and turns her back to the wall and heads away from it, deeper into the forest.  Not that it will do any good.  She has a horrible suspicion there is no easy way out.

*/*/*/*/*

She walks until she thinks she’s far enough away from where she touched the wall that he wouldn’t know which way to go to find her.  Although now she’s no longer sure where she is in relation to the trail or the cabin.  She needs daylight and to save her strength for the inevitable confrontation with her captor.  He knows this area and he has her trapped.

She finds another pine tree with its boughs touching the ground and crawls beneath it.  She makes herself as comfortable as she can, knowing she can’t really sleep because the last thing she wants is to wake up shackled to that bed again.  Besides, Jarell would never let her live it down if she sprained an ankle like some damsel in an old-fashioned action movie because she was stumbling around a forest in the dark.

She lets out a tired puff of a sigh and closes her eyes, but she startles at every noise and rustle of the leaves.

She’s not going to sleep, not really, but she needs to rest.  So she does what she always does when she needs a break from the world around her:  she tells herself a story.

*/*/*/*/*


	18. Major Edward Beck (Jericho)

***/*/*/*/***

“Heather?”

Beck keeps his voice as soothing as he can, even though he’s more terrified than he’s been since he realized the world as he’d known it had ended and his ex-wife and daughter were lost somewhere in the chaos of what was left of the United States…or since he realized he’d been following the orders of a corrupt and illegitimate government.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the plane crash or how long it’s been since he regained consciousness, luckily only bruised and battered but nothing broken and no major injuries, so far as he can tell.  The pilot’s dead and Heather...well, Heather’s been unconscious since he’s been awake, and he’s been awake long enough to pull her out of the wreckage, rummage through what was left of the plane for blankets and what food supplies they have remaining to them, and to scout a little bit of the area.

Heavily forested, but at least it’s not winter.  They have water, thanks to the supplies they were carrying, but he has not yet found a stream or a river.  It’s not a priority, though, not until he knows Heather is fully awake.

He looks at the trees that surround them and grimaces.  It’s incredible any of them survived at all.

He turns back to Heather.

“Heather?” he says again, taking her hand:  limp and calloused and far too small to be so strong.  “Heather, honey, it’s time to wake up.”

He’s examined her as best he could.  No blood although there’s a large bump on her forehead with a bruise radiating out from it like some obscene sun, turning her pretty face purple and red and blue.  But her arms and legs aren’t obviously broken, and her breathing is easy, with no rattles or labouring.  Her pulse—he checks again, obsessively—is strong and steady.  She just won’t wake up.

There’s a crack of a twig, somewhere in the distance, and Beck’s head snaps up.  He stills, like an animal catching wind of a predator, and listens.  There’s only a slight breeze, so the forest feels unnaturally calm, as if it’s holding its breath, watching them.

He shakes the thought away.  He’s a career military man.  He hasn’t survived Iraq and the aftermath of twenty-three nuclear bombs bringing what used to be the United States of America to its knees by being fanciful.  He’s a hard-headed pragmatist, dealing in facts and figures, orders and enforced obedience and hard decisions.  He relies on facts and intel to determine who has influence and power in whatever location he needs to hold, and he sometimes does the unthinkable to do just that.  He’s still not sure if Heather has fully forgiven him for what he did to Jake.

But that’s in the past, Jake’s in Jericho, and he and Heather are here, now, in the middle of nowhere, and there won’t be any search parties sent out to find them, either.  It’s not like anyone has the fuel or the planes to spare to search for a cocky, overly-confident pilot, or one rogue army Major and his town liaison hailing from a place no one here has ever heard of.

Those who _would_ move heaven and hell to find Heather, well, they’re back in Kansas and he and Heather are likely somewhere in the wilds of Maine, judging from their flight path and how long they were in the air before things went wrong.

They’re a long, long way from home.

The leaves seem to whisper a warning as they rustle in the breeze.

He scowls at the thought.  The forest is just another forest, likely filled with bears and wolves and other, less dangerous animals, but it’s not some supernatural entity waiting to see what he’s going to do next.

Although it almost feels like he’s on the ground, a pebble digging into his shoulder, his vision obscured by pine boughs, shivering as he tries to sleep.

The feeling is gone as quickly as it appeared, and he turns back to Heather.

“Heather,” he says, more forcefully this time.  “Wake up.”

His heart leaps as her eyelids flutter and she pulls her face into a pained frown as she turns her head.

“Come on,” he urges, “please.”

Finally he’s rewarded with the sight of her beautiful blue eyes, hazy and pain-filled though they may be.

He smiles.  “There you are.”

She blinks up at him, silent for long moments and for a heart-stopping moment, he wonders if she recognizes him.  Then her lips curve into a ghost of a smile.  “Beck,” she breathes, “hi...what happened?”

“We crashed.”

“...oh.”

Beck’s almost giddy with relief even though he knows she’s still out of it.  She never would have let him get away with such an obvious statement of fact if she were fully awake.

She turns her head and her frown deepens.  “Trees?” she murmurs.  “In _Kansas_?”

He barks a laugh at that and it sounds harsh and loud in the quiet of the forest.  “We’re somewhere in Maine.  We were heading to Nova Scotia, remember?  Trading food for fuel and hopefully negotiating a possible trade route with Jericho.”

Her frown clears.  “I remember.  Rutko.  The pilot.  He reminded me of Jake.”

He reminded Beck of Jake, too:  young, tall, darkly handsome, with wide, brown eyes and the same rueful resignation to the fact that he, Rutko, was going to need to step up and be ‘the guy’ for his town yet again.  Heather had been fascinated and even shyly flirtatious.

“He didn’t make it, Heather,” Beck says as gently as he can.  “I’m sorry.”

And he is.  Rutko had been as friendly as he could be in these dangerous times, competent and personable, and too many good people have died already since the bombs went off.  Besides, while watching Heather flirt with another man certainly bruised Beck’s pride, he also had no right to feel that way.  He’s certainly never told Heather his feelings for her have been changing from Major-of-an-Occupying-Army-turned-Ally to something much deeper, and she certainly hasn’t given any hints that she sees him as anything other than a friend and a useful resource in times of trouble.

Heather bites her lip and closes her eyes at the news.  “...oh.”  A tear rolls down her cheek.

Beck pulls over the blanket filled with the item’s he’d put to hand while he was taking stock of their situation, then gives her time to pull herself together before he helps her sit up.

“We have some Tylenol,” he says, handing her a couple of tablets then pours her a cup of water.  “They won’t help much but they should at least take the edge off.”

She swallows the pills without complaint then lays back down again with an exhausted sigh.

“Don’t go back to sleep,” he warns her.

“I won’t,” she mumbles, her eyes already drifting closed.

“Heather.”

He seems to hear someone muttering something in front of him but Heather’s lips aren’t moving.  He looks up, frowning, peering at the trees.  For a moment, again, it’s as if his sight is obscured by pine needles immediately in front of him.  

“Heather,” he says, his voice suddenly sharp and cold, “you have to stay awake.”

“Why?” she mutters.

“Because he’s back.”

*/*/*/*/*


	19. Fenley (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Fenley startles awake, leaving Beck and Heather behind.  She’s surprised to see the sky is light already.  She’s slept the entire night and she feels surprisingly well rested and clear-headed even if she’s stiff and sore from the ground and the chill of the night.

She remembers Beck’s warning and stays perfectly still, straining to hear whatever it is he heard in the forest.  Then she hears a man’s voice, faint but growing louder as he gets closer to where she’s tucked away beneath the boughs of the pine tree.

“...said she’d never put up a fight!...I don’t know!  She overpowered me somehow...no, I don’t know how long I had her before she got away!...You know what I’m like when you bring me a fresh catch!...that was the first thing I checked, do you think I’m stupid?...fuck you!  Do you think I would have waited for you to call if the gate had been open?...She’s going to be close to the trail or the wall.  She’ll exhaust herself trying to run away from us; this forest is thick as fuck.  Plus she’s naked.  Besides, she’s too stupid to find the way out...Yeah, well, _fuck you_!  She just got lucky, that’s all!  Or maybe she’s a black belt or something...look, if you’d answered your fucking texts yesterday we would have found her by now so just get out here!  You’re the hunter and it’s your ass on the line, too, you know.”

Fenley hears him muttering curses and she wishes she could see where, exactly, he is.  She keeps perfectly still and hopes she’s completely out of sight.  She carefully controls her breathing until she hears him muttering curses as he walks away.

She slowly relaxes and thinks through what she heard.

His conversation confirmed her suspicion there must be a second person involved. 

Kip?

There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach that’s not caused by hunger or any residual effects of the drugs they used on her.

It can only be Kip, because that would explain everything.  Or, she thinks with wistful hope, maybe it’s someone whose Trouble let them look like Kip?  Her captor called him the hunter and in Haven, that could mean anything.  None of it good.

She feels hollowed out inside at the thought that Kip, handsome, popular Kip, would do such a thing to her then tells herself she needs to get moving.

Except this one is nearby, he’s already looking for her, and he’ll soon have a friend to help him.  She remembers what Tony Stark told her:  she needs to get as far away as quickly as she can.  Maybe she can climb over the wall...

 _Or stay_ , a voice whispers inside her, _then use your Trouble to put them both to sleep.  It’ll be easier to find Haven if you have a car than it’s going to be if you’re on foot without food or water._

Assuming, of course, her Trouble will work on anyone other than her captor, or on more than one person at a time.

Assuming she has a Trouble in the first place and this isn’t just one giant mind-fuck to toy with her.

For a moment, she’s frozen with indecision.  She starts to shake and she can feel panic once more rising up on the edges of her mind.

Then she seizes on another thing her captor said:  “she’ll never find the way out”.  Which means there must _be_ a way out that isn’t obvious, unlike the gate that must be there to let vehicles get to the cabin.

The thought calms her and she reminds herself to keep her wits about her and not give in to the fear.

She doesn’t hear her captor anymore and cautiously eases her way out from beneath the tree.

She needs to scout along the wall, which they’ll be expecting.  Still, she has no choice.  There’s going to be two of them and she needs to _do something_ to save herself.

It’s up to her to get herself out of this because there’s no one riding to her rescue anytime soon.

*/*/*/*/*


	20. Nathan Wuornos (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

It’s not the first time Audrey has crashed at his place.  They work long, erratic hours and sometimes it’s easier to either sleep at the station or go to either his house or her loft or even, god forbid and only with his strong objections, Duke’s boat, to catch a couple of hours of sleep before getting right back to work.

He shifts a little beneath his blankets, although it’s not because he’s uncomfortable.  He can’t feel anything, so he has no idea if he even _is_ comfortable or if he’s going to have a crick in his neck the next day, or if his back is out, or even if he’s broken an arm or been stabbed.  No, he’s uncomfortable because Audrey is in the next room, sleeping on the extra-comfortable couch she insisted he buy after sleeping one too many times on his previous one, telling him that ‘just because you can’t feel anything when you wake up doesn’t mean I can’t’.

He smiles a little at the memory then sobers.

They’ve been skirting around each other ever since their first and so far only attempt at a date didn’t even get off the ground, thanks to Audrey’s kidnapping.  Things have been complicated ever since.

He grimaces.

_More_ complicated.  It’s Haven, after all.

Still, they haven’t really talked about it and, if anything, Audrey’s been running away from him as fast as humanly possible.  He gets it but he doesn’t get it...and unfortunately, it’s only his body that doesn’t have any feeling.

Well, he tells himself, nothing’s going to change tonight...or any night, as far as he can tell.  And there’s a young woman out there in the forests of Maine who needs him to be at his best in order to find her.

He pushes thoughts of Audrey away as he sighs, closes his eyes and waits for sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

Morning comes far too early, but if Tony Stark is right and Fenley has made a break for it, time has become even more critical than it was before, and Nathan hadn’t thought that was possible.

He makes pancakes, bacon, eggs, and coffee, and scowls when Duke knocks then walks in, looking even more heavy-eyed than they do.  He sprawls on a chair beside Audrey with an exhausted sigh.  For a split second, Nathan toys with the idea of refusing to feed him but he’s already pouring more pancake batter on the griddle and getting Duke a cup for coffee.

Audrey would just nag at him all day if he didn’t.

The woman in question is looking at Duke with a raised eyebrow.  “Rough night?” she asks with a lilt of amusement in her voice.

“You have some interesting guests,” Duke says.

Audrey snickers a little.  “You don’t know the half of it.”

Duke grins.  “A Vulcan-human hybrid walked into my bar last night, accompanied by a hot-headed starship captain and a doctor who’s even grumpier than Cheerful over there, followed by Tony _fucking_ Stark himself accompanied by the one and only Pepper Potts.  That’s tough to beat.”

“We also have two fictional detective duos stashed at the bed and breakfast.”

Duke freezes, his coffee cup halfway to his lips as he stares at her.  “If they’re two radically different versions of Sherlock and Watson, you won’t be able to pry me away from this Trouble with a crowbar.”

“Lucky for us, no,” Nathan says, setting the platter of pancakes, eggs and bacon on the table, “so I guess we’ll be seeing you around.”

Duke grins at him, all teeth and smarmy charm.  “I already promised Tony and Pepper I would show them around Haven once you’ve finished talking to them again.  He and I have bonded, you know?  And he’s a good guy to have as a friend.”

Nathan stares at him without expression.  “You do realize he’s not a real person.”

Duke shrugs.  “He’s still a genius, playboy, philanthropist, even if he’s no longer a billionaire.”

Audrey laughs.  “Well, before you do any more bonding, we need to find Jarell Slavick.  It looks like we’re dealing with two Troubles, not one.”

Duke groans.  “I need more coffee for this,” he grumbles and gets up to grab the pot.

*/*/*/*/*

Audrey takes Duke to find Jarell while Nathan heads to the police station.  As Acting Chief of Police, he’s got more paperwork to do than he likes, including and especially creating two sets of case files to hide the Troubles from the outside world.  Still, if he can get through most of it before things start to get crazy... _crazier_ …he’ll be able to focus on Fenley and her would-be rescuers for the rest of the day.

He’s working on the duty roster and he’s already sent several officers out to pick up their various guests and bring them back to the station when Stan pokes his head around his door.

“Nathan?”

Nathan takes one look at Stan’s face and leans back in his chair.  “ _Again?”_

Stan shrugs.

*/*/*/*/*

Nathan frowns as he assesses the pretty, blue-eyed brunette and the darkly handsome man standing at the front desk who claim to be there to help find a young woman who’s been kidnapped.  They, too, don’t know her name is Fenley Slavick.  They’re also reluctant to give their names, the man more than the woman, and seem confused about where they are and how they arrived there.

“Wait,” the woman, Heather, says, “we’re in _Maine_?”

Nathan nods, watching her face and eyes.

She turns to her companion, relief flooding over her face, her eyes shining.  “Then we’re in Columbus’ territory.”

The man gives her a look and raises an eyebrow.  “I’m afraid that’s not much safer for me.”

“Columbus’ territory?” Nathan asks, confused.

“We have to trust them,” Heather says, her voice soft.  “We have to trust _somebody_.”

Not surprisingly, the man melts in the face of those pleading eyes.  He sighs and turns to Nathan.

“My name is Major Edward Beck, late of the ASA.  I’m a wanted man because I defected from the ASA to Jericho.”

Nathan stares.  “Of course you did.”

*/*/*/*/*

Nathan takes Heather and Major Beck to the break room, where they both react to the sight and scent of coffee like they haven’t seen it in months.  He asks them some questions and learns that Beck believes Fenley is out in the forest somewhere, on the ground, with pine boughs blocking her view.

Nathan’s heart sinks.  “Hurt?” he says, his voice sharp.  “Dying?”

Beck frowns, thinking, then shakes his head.  “Hiding.”

Relief floods through him.  “Then we still have a chance to find her alive,” he mutters.

Heather is scowling, a frown line creasing the centre of her forehead.  “You really don’t think all of this sounds insane?”

Nathan gives her a rueful smile.  “If you stick around Haven long enough, I’ll explain it to you.”  He drums his fingers on the table.  “There are other people I’d like you to meet,” he says.  “I think it’s time we put you all in a room, start comparing your stories.  Maybe we’ll be able to get a better picture then, maybe get some idea of where Fenley might be.”

Heather’s frown doesn’t ease but both she and Beck nod in agreement.

*/*/*/*/*

Nathan leaves Heather and Beck in the breakroom since the boardroom has the murder board that Castle, Beckett, Booth, and Brennan started the day before.  He thinks Heather and Beck need to be eased into seeing that…and eased into everything else, too.

While he waits for the others to arrive, he searches for Beck’s and Heather’s names online and confirms what he already knew:  they, too, are fictional characters.  When he scans the summary of the television show they’re from—nuclear bombs destroy twenty-three American cities and the town of Jericho must struggle to survive—he understands why they were so ecstatic over coffee.

Still.  Another set of fictional characters are sitting in his break room.

Nathan feels pressure behind his temples and thinks he’d have a headache if he could actually feel anything.

He wanders into the boardroom and takes a look at the murder board, then turns and counts the chairs.

If characters keep showing up, they’re going to run out of room.

He smiles a little at the thought.  He glances at his watch.  Their other visitors will be arriving any minute and he hopes Audrey and Duke are back soon with Jarell.

It would be nice to get some answers in this case for a change.

*/*/*/*/*


	21. Fenley (Haven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Mention of human remains/bones. Nothing graphic.

***/*/*/*/***

Fenley’s stomach seems to, thankfully, be back to normal.  Hollow and thirsty, but at least she’s not scurrying into the bushes to empty her bowels at roughly the speed of sound while hoping she’ll be able to clean herself afterwards.

_Small things,_ she tells herself as she rearranges the sheet around her so it’s more like a jumpsuit than a toga.  A short jumpsuit, but at least it should stay on and her legs shouldn’t get tangled up in it if she has to run.

_Another small thing,_ she thinks, and doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry.

Fenley creeps her way in the direction where she heard her captor earlier and peeks through the trees.  She realizes she’d spent the night near the trail, and likely beneath the same tree as she’d hidden under the previous day.  She ponders going back to the cabin and putting her captor to sleep with a story, but her mind circles back to the same impasse as yesterday:  will he stay asleep if she tries to tie him up?

There’s also still a lingering worry that she doesn’t have a Trouble at all and this is part of the games he and his partner like to play with their victims.

Because she’s not the first, she thinks as she makes her way back to the wall, and if she can’t find a way out of here and bring the police down on these guys, she also won’t be the last.

*/*/*/*/*

The wall, in the daylight, is the same as any other wall:  grey concrete, but very smooth and—she cautiously touches it—not electrified.  She stares up at it.  It’s not overly high, she guesses about ten feet, but when you don’t have a ladder, ten feet may as well be a thousand.

She looks down at the sheet she’s wearing, then at the surrounding trees.

“I should have at least grabbed one of the knives,” she mutters under her breath, “maybe I could have cobbled a ladder together.”

_No, I couldn’t._ Fenley knows she could never have built a ladder that would support her weight, let alone one that was ten feet tall.  She also would have had to pull it up after her so she could get down the other side.  She has a sudden image of the thing miraculously holding her weight until she was at the top only for it to fall apart as she pulled it up behind her.  No, that kind of skill and luck only happens on television or in the movies.

She half-heartedly turns to her left and begins to follow the wall.  Maybe it ends, or there’s a second way in with an open gate…but she already knows neither of those is true.  She’s in an enclosure, a square of forest locked up tight, otherwise her captor would have assumed she was back in Haven already, or lost somewhere, deeper in the woods.  He knows she’s still here, still somewhere she can be found once his partner arrives.  That means the space is big enough to hide in but not big enough to stay hidden forever.

Frustration is building inside her, and she wishes she could throw back her head and scream at the sky.

_This isn’t fair_ , she thinks, and for the first time since this ordeal began, anger begins to simmer inside her.  She’s never done anything to this guy or to Kip, if his partner really is Kip, and she doesn’t deserve any of this.

*/*/*/*/*

Fenley doesn’t know how long she walks, the wall an endless, featureless grey mass to her right, but it feels like it takes forever and no time at all before she’s back where she started.  The sky has clouded over so she can’t tell how far the sun has moved and, for a moment, her inability to understand how much time has passed makes her dizzy.  A sudden gust of wind rattling the trees makes her jump and she shivers.  The air has turned chilly and smells like rain.

She shivers again and turns her glum attention back to where the trail ends, cut off by the wall.  Maybe she should have staked out this place and slipped through when her captor’s partner drove through the gate that must be here.  She might have been able to slip out before they realized she was there.

But there are no seams anywhere in the wall that she can see, not even here, where there must be a gate if they want to get a car close to the cabin.

Fenley moves deeper into the trees, sits down behind a particularly thick growth of bushes and tries to _think_.

If there’s a hidden door, her captor is right:  she’s too stupid to find it.

She also now doesn’t know if her captor’s partner has arrived or not, and a chill of fear slithers down her spine at the thought.  She thinks of the stories she’s been telling since she woke on that bed.  None of her heroes would be pleased that she allowed herself to be at such a disadvantage.

_Of course, I also didn’t think to take the knives...or water._

Rage explodes behind her eyes and she shakes with it, fighting the urge to bash herself bloody against the wall while screaming out her fear and frustration.

She’s half-way to her feet, ready to do just that, her hands curled into tight fists, her teeth bared in a feral snarl, and stops, teetering...and sinks back to the ground, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

_Rage is no more productive than fear,_ she tells herself. _I’m still free and maybe he knows where I am...but maybe he doesn’t.  Maybe his partner is here, and maybe he isn’t._

She turns and looks up the winding trail, at the end of which is the cabin.

_Shelter,_ she thinks.   _Water. Knives.  Food?_

_Enemies?_

_Only one way to find out._

She turns her back to the trail and heads deeper into the forest, hoping that, if anyone’s watching, they won’t understand she’s making her way back to the cabin.

*/*/*/*/*

Fenley moves carefully and as quietly as she can, making a wide circle as she edges her way back to the cabin.  She keeps her ears and eyes peeled for any sign of her captor, hoping she will see him before he sees her, which is why she stumbles over something half-buried in the forest dirt and falls, scraping both her knees and the palms of her hands.

She rides out the pain then rolls over and sits up to check her wounds.

Not bad, she thinks as she flicks dirt and gravel from her knees.  She’s scraped up a bit, but there’s not much blood and it shouldn’t slow her down.

Then her eyes drift to what tripped her.

It takes her a moment to understand that she’s looking into the empty eye sockets of a human skull.

She stares for a long moment, and a distant part of her thanks whatever god might be listening that at least it’s just bare bone, as devoid of identity as any plastic prop on the detective shows she likes so much.

_Don’t let Temperance Brennan hear you say that_ , a voice gibbers inside her, and now she’s gritting her teeth once more, struggling again with the urge to scream out her rage at the people who put her in this situation, the people most likely responsible for that skull being here in the first place.

_They need to pay for what they’ve done_ , she thinks.   _They need to be brought to justice._

Anger swells inside her:  anger for herself, but even more anger for the person who once animated that skull in front of her.  She wonders how many more victims are scattered in these woods, how long these guys have been doing this and getting away with it.

Fenley’s vision narrows and she doesn’t know if she’s on the verge of a panic attack or a rage attack but she does know she _needs to calm down_.  She can’t afford to lose herself in her emotions if she hopes to win against these monsters.  But she feels her control slipping, her vision narrowing, a red haze filming her eyes…and then she mutters, through clenched teeth, “Let me tell you a story.”

*/*/*/*/*


	22. Alec Hardy (Broadchurch)

***/*/*/*/***

Hardy glares at the skull, dirt-stained and packed with mud, half-buried in the leaves and grass and twigs beneath the trees, here beside the river.  The river is unusually high, thanks to the equally unusually high rainfall they’ve suffered through the last few weeks.  The sound of the water rushing between the banks grates against his nerves, memories of Sandbrook and poor, wee Pippa clamoring at the back of his mind.  He’ll have a bad night tonight, he knows, but that’s tonight, and he has more immediate concerns.

Miller crouches down beside him, her curly-haired head cocked to one side as she, too, considers what was found.  

_A couple of kids,_ Hardy thinks, _just looking for a place where they can shag in peace without their parents finding out, and look what happens._

He tries not to wonder where his little girl, his Daisy, is right now, and whether she’s off with her arsehole boyfriend doing the exact same thing.

“Think it’s recent?” Miller says, bringing him back to the problem that’s facing them in the here and now.

Hardy glances at her then turns his glare back on the skull and shrugs.  “We can hope it’s an old burial from a thousand years ago, Miller, but I doubt the odds are with us.”

She sighs and nods, then looks up as Brian calls their names and gestures for them to join him.

“No hope it’s ancient,” Brian says, pointing.

Hardy follows the other man’s finger and sees what’s obviously a human leg bone still wrapped in the tattered remains of dirt-stained cloth.

“Polyester, by the looks of it,” Brian says.  “I’ll test it to be sure.”

Hardy feels the weight of the river closing over his head once again as he turns to Miller.  “So much for it being from a thousand years ago.”

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy’s rage is already simmering by the time they get back to the station and start pulling missing persons reports.

“We should wait until we have some idea of how old those bones are,” Miller says in mild protest, “and whether they’re male or female.”

He lifts his head and simply stares at her over his glasses until she pulls a face.

“Right,” she mutters.  “Can I at least go home at my regular time?”

Hardy’s eyebrow quirks up because she’s blushing, actually blushing. 

“Hot date, Miller?” he drawls, deliberately emphasizing his already thick Scottish brogue.

Now it’s her turn to glare at him.  “None of your damned business,” she snaps.

“So yes, then.”  He leans back in his chair and gives her a cheeky grin.  “Are you going to kiss him?”

She rolls her eyes.  “At least I _have_ a date!  Have you been on one since...what was her name?”

Hardy’s smile disappears as it’s now his turn to blush.  He can’t remember the woman’s name, except she had been nice and he’d been...well, _him_ , and that was the end of that.  He hasn’t gone out with anyone since, despite Daisy’s coaxing and Miller’s occasional teasing, when she thinks of it.

Like now.

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Awright,” he growls, “no overtime.  But at least give me a list of the files, yah?  I’ll go through them before I go home.”

Miller scowls.  “What about Daisy?”

“She’s at her mum’s.”  He gives her a determined smile.  “I’m all alone.”

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy doesn’t know what time it is when he hears a noise at his office door.

He looks up, blinking bleary eyes and scowls as he tries to understand what he’s looking at.

Miller, in a pretty dress and strappy heels, her unruly curls tamed for once, pulled into a sleek knot at the back of her head, is standing in his doorway with a determined smile on her face and takeout in her hands.

“I knew you’d still be here,” she chirps, and even in heels, she seems to bounce into the room.  Her forceful cheerfulness is still not as natural as it was before, but it’s getting better.

He makes a face as she unwraps the fragrant package of chips and fish and lays it open on his desk with a flourish.

“That bad?” he says.

She shrugs.  “Nice enough, I suppose.  Bit boring, though.”

Hardy raises an eyebrow but she simply gives him a limpid look then nods towards the computer as she picks up several chips.

“Anything?” she asks before shoving the chips into her mouth.

“Too many,” he growls as he gingerly picks up a chip in his turn.  He pauses with it half-way to his lips, blinking down at it.  Daisy and Miller are always telling him he needs to be nicer...

“Thank you, Miller,” he finally mutters, lifting his eyes to hers with a visible effort.

She widens her eyes in mock shock while she chews.

He nods at the food.  “For that.  And for coming back.”

She waves away his words as she swallows her food then says, “Tell me what you’ve found.”

*/*/*/*/*

He summarizes the case files of the five missing persons cases that might be relevant.

“All women,” Miller says once he’s done.

He shrugs.  “Aye.  Seems logical, as a start.”

Miller cocks her head to one side and appraises him.  “You’re already angry about this one.”

He frowns.  “Aren’t you?”

“We don’t know what ‘this’ is, yet. Or has SOCO gotten back to us while I was gone?”

Hardy gives a short, sharp shake of his head.

“Then it might have been an accident.  Or self-inflicted.  Or natural causes, for god’s sake!”

But he knows it’s none of those things.  He _knows_.  His scowl deepens.  He can see the little shit now, probably hiding in that cabin, waiting for his partner to show up.  The fact he— _they_ —have gotten away with this for so long, that the poor woman who was just found in the woods has had to wait so long for her murderers to be brought to justice...he turns his glare on his computer.  Is she even one of these five?  Has anyone even noticed she’s missing?

Hardy’s righteous rage is building and he swears he feels his pacemaker shifting gears.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Miller snaps and Hardy realizes he was speaking his thoughts out loud.  “What little shit?  What cabin?”

They glare at each other, and Hardy growls, “I can _see_ the man who did this, Miller.  I may not know his name, but I’ll know him when I find him.”

Her brown eyes widen.

“I won’t let him get away with this,” Hardy says, “and I will find him, whatever it takes.  I am going to get justice for that poor girl, whoever she is, and for the other victims, and for the girl on the run from him now.”

*/*/*/*/*


	23. Fenley (Haven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Mention of human remains. Non-graphic violent imagery.

***/*/*/*/***

Hardy’s words echo in Fenley’s mind as the forest comes back into focus, including the skull she literally stumbled over.  The purity of his righteous rage cleanses her, calms her, gives her strength.  She’s still angry, yes, still terrified, but there’s something almost _cleansing_ about Hardy and Miller’s tenacity and focus that enables them to funnel their anger at cruelty and injustice into dedication to hunting down the bad guys, even if justice escapes them.  The remnants of it in her mind makes her feel... _powerful_.

Fenley sets her jaw.

“I _am_ going to get justice for you,” she whispers to the person who once inhabited the skull at her feet. “For you and everyone else.”

She bows her head in what might be prayer then tucks the bag with the water bottles at the foot of a nearby tree, half-covering it with branches and other forest debris. 

She cocks her head, considering her handiwork, and nods.  She should be able to find this place again.

Fenley brushes off her hands then continues on her way to the cabin.

*/*/*/*/*

Fenley peeks out from behind thick bushes and scans what she can see of the area around the cabin.  There’s still no vehicle, no sign of life, and no obvious cameras or alarm systems.

She keeps to the trees and carefully circles the cabin, straining to catch the slightest movement, but the curtains are drawn and still, and if there’s anyone inside, she can’t see them.

She takes a deep breath.  _Now or never._

She hasn’t taken more than two steps when the cabin door opens, Kip bounds down the steps then stumbles to a halt when he catches sight of her.

Fenley freezes and they stare at each other in suspended silence for what feels like forever, then Kip cries “Oh, thank God!” and rushes towards her.

“Stay away from me!” She snatches up a fallen branch and braces herself, wondering if she’ll be able to bring herself to smash it into that face she’s dreamed about ever since she first realized she liked boys.

Kip skids to a halt, eyes wide and worried, his hands up, palms out in a placating gesture.

“Fenley!  It’s _me_!  Kip!  I’ve come to rescue you!”

For a moment she hesitates, hope bursting into glorious life in her chest...then she hears Hardy’s and Miller’s voices whispering ‘don’t trust’ and she tightens her grip on the branch.

“How did you get in here?” she demands, brandishing her weapon, such as it is, in what she hopes is a menacing manner.  “How did you know where I was?”

“I saw Connett hanging around when I dropped you off, and when I heard you’d gone missing, I knew it was him.”

“Connett?”

Kip’s head bobs in a frantic nod.  “We have to get out of here before he gets back!”

“How do you know him?”

He bounces from foot to foot, almost like he’s on the football field again, getting ready to call the play, only Fenley doesn’t know if she’s his teammate or his opponent.

“He’s a friend of my dad’s,” Kip says.  “We have to _go_!”

He looks so sincere that Fenley hesitates, lowering her branch a fraction but raising it again when Kip takes that as an invitation to move closer.  He stops in his tracks, his eyes pleading.

“How did you get in here?” she says again.

“This is my dad’s place,” he says, as if she should have recognized it herself.  “There’s a gate on the north side.”

Fenley’s stance and grip on the branch doesn’t ease.  “Show me.”

*/*/*/*/*

Kip leads her through the forest and Fenley tries to keep an ear open for her captor—Connett?  Is that a first name or a last name?—as they go.  She cringes at every snapped branch, every crunched leaf, every kicked pebble or scrape of gravel beneath Kip’s sneakers.  It all echoes far too loudly in her ears and she wonders where Connett is, and if she didn’t need Kip to show her the way out, she’d break this branch over his head just to keep him quiet.

“This is my dad’s hunting lodge,” Kip is saying in what Fenley assumes is meant to be a whisper, “but he hasn’t hunted in years.  Not since the accident.”

“Will you _hush_?” she hisses.  “We don’t know where he is!”

Kip stops and gives her a hurt look from his soulful blue eyes.  “You asked.”

She’s still carrying her stick, and she gestures with it now.  “Just...get me out of here and _then_ tell me the story.”

He huffs and starts walking again while she scowls, wondering if he can feel her eyes boring a hole between his broad shoulders.  She doesn’t remember him being this...well... _flaky_ , for lack of a better term, in school.  Is he being deliberately so, to put her at ease, or to lull her into a false sense of security?  Connett had been talking to _somebody_ this morning; is it just coincidence that Kip—the last person she remembers being with before her abduction—is the man who arrived?

They make it to the wall, and Kip gives her a conspiratorial grin as he yanks a branch on a tree beside the wall, and a section of that grey, seamless expanse pops ajar. 

He pulls it open, then “After you, m’lady,” he says with a bow and a sweep of his arm towards the opening.

She steps gingerly closer to peer past him through the gate and sees his white car.

“Where are the keys?” she says.

Kip digs in his pocket and holds them up, one eyebrow raised in question.

She holds out her hand. “Give them to me.”

He looks startled, then hurt.  “I’m here to help you!”

“Then you’ll help me by _giving me the fucking keys_!”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Your asshole friend was on the phone with somebody this morning, Kip,” she says between gritted teeth, “and here you are.”

“I told you—”

“And you haven’t asked me how I am or said a word about what I’m wearing or wondered what’s happened or how I happen to be out in the middle of the woods.”

He blinks, then gives her a half-smile filled with hurt disappointment.  “There’s no time for that.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to get you out of here.”

“Yeah?  Then you won’t mind giving me the keys.  I’ll send help back to find you once I’m safely back in Haven.”

They stare at each other in silent impasse and Fenley _knows_ , even before Kip’s smile changes from hurt to rueful. 

“I always wondered if you were smarter than you looked,” he drawls.

For a moment, grief and rage almost take her to her knees.  “Why me?” she whispers.

He shrugs.  “Nothing personal.  It was just time for a new toy.”

Fenley’s hands tighten on the branch and for a moment, she _sees_ it:  the branch connecting with that pretty face, breaking his nose and hopefully leaving a scar or two to mar his handsome features.

Kip laughs.  “You’re not getting past me, Fenley.  You know that.  Put that stick down, and I’ll tell you what:  we won’t keep you as long as the others.”

She bares her teeth in something that only vaguely resembles a smile.  “Fuck you,” she growls through her clenched jaw.  _“Let me tell you a story.”_

*/*/*/*/*


	24. Brienne of Tarth (A Song of Ice and Fire)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** There's a battle, so blood and violent imagery. Nothing too graphic but a bit more than my usual style.

***/*/*/*/***

Rage.

Brienne is almost blinded by it as she kicks and slashes, shoves and stabs, Oathkeeper alive in her hand.  She’s in the grips of battle fever.  She doesn’t feel the pain of her injuries—even her broken ribs and arm seem a distant memory in her desperate fight to survive—and everything and everyone around her seems slow, as ponderous as an unfurling leaf, while she’s moving as quick as a heartbeat, dancing from one foe to the next.  Pod is in front of her, _alive_ , thank the gods.  He’s managed to arm himself with a dropped sword and is holding his own against much larger opponents.  Ser Hyle is to her right, also armed and doing his best although his face is so swollen Brienne isn’t certain he can see, and to her left, laughing...

The gold hand catches the light as it connects with Lem Lemoncloak’s nose with a satisfying crunch.  Jaime’s better in battle than Brienne expected, and an odd sort of pride swells in her breast at the thought.  Jaime uses his gold hand to hold Lemoncloak’s sword away from his neck as he drives his own sword through his attacker’s belly, and a distant part of her nods with satisfaction.  The Lion of Lannister may be maimed, but he’s far from helpless.  The thought makes her heart soar even though she knows they’re doomed.  There are too many of them, too well armed, and they are only playing, else she and Jaime and Pod and Hyle would already be dead.

She remembers the words Jaime once said to his cousin Cleos when they first left Riverrun so long ago:  “The best we can hope is to die with a sword in our hands.”

 _You will get your wish,_ she thinks, and wants to weep.

*/*/*/*/*

Rage.

It gives her strength and stamina and skill, Oathkeeper flicking and flying like a thing possessed.  But Brienne doesn’t know if her rage is kindled by Lady Stoneheart, or the men she fought at the Inn, or the men who want to do unspeakable things to women, or if she’s most angry with herself, for being unable to speak pretty words that would have persuaded these people to her side, for lying to Jaime, for leading him to his death, for being unable to save Pod and Ser Hyle, for being so foolish as to fancy herself a knight.

*/*/*/*/*

Rage.

So much death, so much destruction, and for what?  She had been a foolish child, blinded by love, when she flew to Renly’s side and swore her sword to him, promised her life for his.  He, too, had been blinded by his love for that iron monstrosity they call a throne. Power-mad and willing to marry wherever he could gain the most power.

Brienne cries out with pain and falls to her knees as a mace crunches against her left shoulder.  She stares up at her death, gasping, then gasps again when a war hammer flashes and blood bursts from the man’s head as he is knocked from his feet.

Brienne gapes at her saviour:  Renly brought back to life.

Gendry glares down at her then reaches out his hand.

She grasps it and lets him pull her to her feet.  She glances around and sees there are more people fighting each other than before. 

_Who...?_

She recognizes Willow, the girl from the inn, as she shoots her crossbow, the arrow lodging in Harwin’s heart.

Brienne turns back to Gendry but her words of thanks are too large, too small, and stick in her throat.

He understands her anyway.  He gives her an almost regal nod then spins, smashing his hammer into the chest of the man behind him before he moves on to the next.

*/*/*/*/*

Rage.

She failed Jaime, just like she failed Renly and Lady Catelyn and her father.  It is a blessing from the Seven that he is still beside her, warm and beautiful and vibrant and _alive_ , and now there truly are more swords and hammers and arrows and thick cords of wood fighting _for_ them instead of against them.

There’s a brief moment of respite, and Jaime says, panting, “We have them on the run, wench,” and points his sword in the direction of the cave where she had once been held captive.  Brienne sees Lady Stoneheart and Thoros of Myr disappearing inside.

“No,” she whispers, taking a step forward.

Jaime shrugs, his smile knife-sharp and mocking.  “Let them go.  If we survive this, then I expect you to help me hunt them down.  You owe me that, at least.”  Her eyes widen and his grin turns sharper and even more mocking as he adjusts his grip on his sword and moves to rejoin the fighting.  “And we _will_ find them,” he calls over his shoulder.  “A Lannister always pays his debts.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Rage._

She finally finds him, the one she’s been searching for throughout this pitched battle for survival, the one who most deserves to die.

He’s pretty enough, she supposes, but not near as handsome as Jaime and far less honorable.  She forces him to his knees, her sword at his neck.

“You’re a monster,” she growls.  She had called Jaime monster, once, only to learn he was more honorable than she knew.  That poor girl had called this boy hero once only to learn he is a monster in truth.

_What will happen when I swing my sword?_

Brienne lightly presses Oathkeeper against his neck, watching a small pinprick of blood oozing from where the edge of the blade has scraped his skin. 

_Will he die there as well?_

Kip stares up at her, eyes wide and pleading.

Doesn’t matter.

She raises her sword—

*/*/*/*/*

**Fenley**

—there’s a sharp pain in the back of her head and the world goes black.

*/*/*/*/*


	25. Duke Crocker (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Jarell Slavick hasn’t spoken more than ten words since they found her taping self-made bright, eye-catching missing posters on streetlamps along Haven’s main street.  During their drive back to the station, Jarell’s jaw is clenched almost as tightly as the hand clutching the strap of the pack slung over her back, and the dark circles under her eyes shows she likely hasn’t slept since her sister went missing.  Duke’s heart twists at her obvious distress, but his and Audrey’s efforts to reassure her were met with stoic stares, terse nods and even terser words.

Jarell’s almost visibly vibrating by the time Audrey leads them into the station, where Nathan hurries to meet them, looking as harried as Nathan ever looks when he isn’t actually furious...usually with him, Duke.

Nathan nods at Jarell, his eyes warm as he looks at Audrey, glares at him, then turns what Duke assumes is meant to be a charming smile on Jarell.

“Thank you for coming in,” Nathan says, “we’ll go to the...”  He frowns.  “I’m sorry, we’ll have to take you into one of the interrogation rooms.”  He glances at Audrey and Duke, his blue eyes rueful.  “We’re a little stretched for space today.”

A muscle jumps along Jarell’s jaw line and Duke half-expects to hear a cracking sound as her teeth finally give way.  Instead, she says, “That’s fine,” in that coldly controlled way of someone holding on to their emotions by a single, fragile thread.  “Will this take long?  I have more posters to put up before I start searching the woods.  If you can’t find Fenley then I’ll do it myself.”

Audrey says, her voice soothing, “We only have a few questions.  We’ll get done as fast as we can.”

Duke watches until Audrey and Nathan disappear with Jarell into interrogation room 2—Duke’s personal favourite.  Its walls are a less industrial grey and there are some stains he’s always wondered about—or tries _not_ to wonder about—as he whiles away the time being yelled at in there, usually by Nathan.  The room is so familiar now, it almost feels like a second home.

He nods at Stan and his fellow cops getting ready to go on patrol then wanders to the break room.  He has thirty or so minutes before he has to meet Tony and Pepper so he may as well grab a coffee while he’s here.  The Haven PD does have excellent coffee, probably because taste and smell are the only physical sensations Nathan has left.  Plus it’s free, at least as far as Duke is concerned.

Duke gives the man and woman sitting at the table a considering look as he strolls to the coffee pot.

_Military man,_ Duke thinks.  _She’s not military, but they both look like they’re about to jump out of their skins._

He gives them his best smile.  “Hi,” he says, keeping his tone cheerful and neutrally friendly.  “You two look like you’re not from around here.”

The couple exchange a lightning glance before the woman shakes her head.  “Kansas,” she says.  She’s a sweetly pretty brunette with clear blue eyes and an earnest air.

The man glowers at her, his brown eyes narrowed as he gives her a sharp, warning shake of his head.

“I told you we have to trust somebody, Beck,” she says, “and we’re in Columbus’ territory, not the ASA’s.”

Duke pauses in pouring his coffee and blinks at them.

The woman is gazing at the man, her eyes wide and pleading.  The man stares back, poker-faced, but Duke suspects he already knows who’s going to win this battle of wills.

“Besides,” the woman continues, “we’ve already told Chief Wuornos.”

The man’s lips tighten and he nods.

“Duke Crocker,” Duke says, holding out his hand.  “And you can tell almost everyone in Haven pretty much anything.”  _Except the Rev’s followers_ , he thinks, _but every town has at least one like that._

The man shakes his hand.  “Major Edward Beck.”

Duke raises an eyebrow.

“...lately of the Jericho Rangers,” the woman says, jumping into the awkward silence.  “Jericho, Kansas, of course.”  She smiles at Duke and the Major’s stoic expression softens into one of surprise and wonder even though the smile is not directed at him.  “I’m Heather Lisinski, Jericho Town Liaison, and also a member of the Rangers.  You seem to have weathered through the bombs quite well here.  You still have coffee!”

Duke feels his own eyes widen.  “Bombs?” he says, wondering if something’s happened since he and Audrey left Nathan’s house to find Jarell.  “What bombs?  And why wouldn’t we have coffee?  Haven may have its quirks but you can’t say we don’t have our priorities straight!”

Now it’s their turn to stare at him.

“The bombs,” Major Beck says slowly, looking at him with a mix of pity and suspicion that tells Duke he’s not the first person the major has met who may have lost their grip on reality.  “The nuclear ones that destroyed twenty-three of our cities and threw the world into chaos?  Those bombs?”

Bells go off in Duke’s head.  He seems to remember hearing something about a television show...

“Right,” he says.  “Sorry.  I try to pretend that never happened.  We’re quite remote here so some days are easier than others.”  He’s spouting bullshit and he’s sure these two know it, but Audrey and Nathan will skin him alive if he drops the— _heh_ —bomb on these two that they’re actually fictional characters suddenly given form.  Duke puts the coffee pot down and hurries to the door.  “I have a meeting,” he says.  “I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

_On my TV screen_ , he thinks, and bites back an urge to burst into hysterical laughter as he bolts from the room.

“This is horseshit!  Is this the state of law enforcement in America?”

Duke stops in mid-stride, if for no other reason than he hasn’t heard a Scottish accent that thick in real life in... _ever_ , really.  He stares at the back of the tall, skinny, dark-haired man towering over the front desk with his hands planted firmly on his hips as he snarls at Rebecca, who apparently drew the short end of the roster this morning and, from the look on her face, is currently deeply regretting her life choices.

“For god’s sake, Hardy!  Try not being a knob for once in your life!”  Duke turns his attention to the curly haired woman beside the tall man.  Her tone is acidic but it turns almost cloyingly kind as she turns back to Rebecca.  “Don’t take it personally, love.  He’s never learned how to be nice to people.”

Even from the back, Duke can see the man is almost vibrating as much as Jarell, only this time with rage.

The man says, “We don’t have time for this, Miller!  There must be _somebody_ round this godforsaken place we can talk to about that poor, wee girl!  I will not be too late this time!”

_Oh, shit_ , Duke thinks.

“She’s still alive, Hardy, we know that,” Miller says, “but this isn’t Broadchurch.  We don’t know the area and we need these people.  Don’t piss them off by being, well, _you_ , awright?”

“For god’s sake, Miller—”

Duke steps up to the desk.  “Maybe I can help?”

Two pairs of dark brown eyes turn towards him.  One pair is glowering, while the other is far more conciliatory, if her smile is anything to go by.

“We certainly hope so.  I’m DS Ellie Miller and this charming fellow beside me is DI Alec Hardy.  We’re with the Broadchurch Police Department.  We’re here with information about a missing girl.”

Duke keeps a smile on his face even as he notices Rebecca turning to her computer and typing away.  He hopes she’s googling their names.

“Right,” Duke says.  “Any girl in particular?”

DI Hardy’s eyes narrow as he rakes him with his gaze.  “You don’t look like a police officer.”

“I’m a consultant.”

Rebecca snorts and Duke glares.

“Volunteer consultant,” Duke says.  “I work closely with the Acting Chief of Police and the senior detective here in the Haven PD.  Why don’t we go into the boardroom—” He catches the quick shake of Rebecca’s head.  “—interrogation room 1—” another shake “—interrogation room 3?”

Rebecca nods.

“Interrogation room 3 it is!  Why don’t I show where that is, and I’ll be right with you.”

Miller gives him a grateful smile but Hardy gives him one more glare before he turns to poor Rebecca.  “Is he who he says he is?”

Rebecca glances at Duke.  “Yes,” she says with a nod.

Hardy continues with his hard stare then growls, “Awright.”

“Hardy,” Miller hisses before she smiles a broad, toothy, conciliatory grin.  “Thank you.”

Duke leads them to interrogation room 3 and he hears Miller hiss behind him, “Hardy, behave yourself!  We’re guests here!”

“He doesn’t look like any copper I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re in America now, you bloody wanker.  Don’t you ever watch telly?”

Duke fights the urge to burst into hysterical laughter.

He settles their latest guests then returns to Rebecca, his eyebrows raised.

“Television show called Broadchurch, another police procedural.  These two are the lead characters, detectives who are opposites but must learn to work together to solve crimes.”  She grins.  “I knew he looked familiar!  The lead actor was also the Tenth Doctor.”

Duke heaves a sigh as he leans on the counter and sips at his coffee.  “Well, thank goodness this Trouble chose the detective.”

“Why?  The Doctor would be fun in a place like this.  He might even be able to stop the Troubles before they begin.”

“Maybe.  But where there’s the Doctor, there’s usually Daleks, so...”

Rebecca grimaces.  “Right.  Or the Master.”

Duke smirks and wiggles his eyebrows.  “You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

Rebecca blushes then shakes her head while she wags a warning finger at him.  “You’re a tease and a flirt, Duke Crocker.  Are you going in there to get their story?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be meeting Tony Stark and Pepper Potts—”

Rebecca shakes her head.  “Dwight’s bringing them in now. Nathan’s orders.”

Duke sighs.  “Nathan has always been a killjoy of the first order.”

“The detectives are in the boardroom, Starfleet’s in interrogation room 1, we have refugees from a post-bomb world in the break room, and now two British detectives in interrogation room 3.  I don’t know where we’re going to put Iron Man and Pepper...”

“With Starfleet.  They spent the night carousing in the Grey Gull so they’re used to each other.”

“You guys need to solve this Trouble soon or we’re going to be overrun.”

The doors to the station opens and Duke’s eyes widen as two of the tallest people he’s ever seen, dressed in well-used, battered armor with matching gold hilted swords at their waists, are ushered in by Mitchell, a member of The Guard.

“I found these two attacking a car with their swords,” Mitchell says in the bored tones of somebody who has seen too much strange shit to be bothered much by one more.

When they stop at the front desk, Duke is forced to tilt his head back to look them in their faces, and he’s six-two.  Duke thinks they’re even taller than Dwight, who stands six-four in his stocking feet.  Duke realizes his mouth is hanging open, and he slowly closes it with an audible gulp.  The woman—good god, a woman with the stature of a Valkyrie but unfortunately none of their legendary beauty, the twisted red scar on her freckled cheek standing out in stark relief against her skin—scowls at him, while the man—golden haired and bearded with cheekbones that even out-do Nathan’s—rakes his cynically arrogant gaze over Duke.

“And I always thought Dwight was the only Sasquatch in town,” Duke mutters beneath his breath.

“This one’s too pretty to be a Sasquatch,” Rebecca breathes and Duke spares her a sour look.  The two knights—even if their armor isn’t all that shining—look both confused and worried but also rather intrigued by their surroundings.  The man turns his gaze on Rebecca and Duke sees her melting—metaphorically—in front of his eyes.

“What is this place?” the man asks.

The woman drops her hand to the sword at her waist and grips the hilt. The man mirrors the action with his own sword and it’s only then that Duke notices the gold hand.  His eyes widen and he doesn’t know if he’s appalled by the injury or curious about how much money that gold hand represents.

“Haven,” Rebecca says and Duke shakes his thoughts away.

“Haven?” the woman says.  Their accents are odd but no more difficult to understand than the Scotsman in interrogation room 3.  The woman slides a glance at the man.  “A place of sanctuary?”

The man’s shrug is barely there.  “The monstrous horseless carriages that almost overran us says otherwise.”  He glances at Mitchell.  “Which House do you serve?  I see no sigil on your breast.”

Mitchell rolls up his sleeve and shows them the round maze tattoo on his forearm.  “I serve in the Guard,” he growls.  “I serve the Troubled.  You just keep those swords in sheathed or we’ll see if your armor can stop bullets.  Got it?”

The knights simply stare at him, their expressions cold and dangerous, their hands tightening on the hilts of their swords.

_This isn’t going to end well_ , Duke thinks, and says, loudly, “Haven is the name of our town.  I’m Duke Crocker.  I serve no House.”  _Whatever that means._

The woman turns her gaze to him while the man scratches at his bearded cheek with his gold hand, his gaze never wavering from Mitchell’s.  Duke wonders what Mitchell’s Trouble is and whether it can protect him from a sword.

“A sellsword, then?” the woman says.

Duke grins.  “In a manner of speaking.  What are your names?  What Houses do you serve?”

“I am Brienne of Tarth, daughter to the Evenstar, Lord Selwyn Tarth.”

“I am Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

Duke keeps his smile unwavering with an effort.  “Well, Brienne, Sir Jaime, welcome to Haven.  You’re here about a missing girl, I expect.”

Brienne’s eyes widen and for a moment, Duke is struck by their beauty.  _Almost as beautiful as Audrey’s._

“Yes,” Brienne says.  “How did you know?”

“We’ve been getting a lot of that lately.”  Duke turns to Rebecca.  “Any ideas?”

Rebecca’s still dreamily staring at Jaime.  “Too many to count,” she sighs.

“Rebecca!”

She starts and blushes furiously.  “Oh, you mean where can they wait until Nathan and Audrey are ready for them.”  She frowns.  “Well, there’s the locker room...?”

“Better than nothing,” Duke says.

The door to the station bursts open and Tony Stark swaggers in with a flourish, followed by an exasperated-looking Pepper and a bemused Dwight.

“The festivities may begin,” Tony says, his voice carrying to every corner of the station, it seems, “Tony Stark has arrived.”

“Stark?” Jaime says, his voice sharp and as loud as Tony’s.  “Even here I am beleaguered with you damnable _Starks_?”

And that, Duke ruefully admits later, is when everything went to hell.

*/*/*/*/*


	26. Tony Stark (Iron Man)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Sorry for taking so long to update. I've been working overtime since the first of February so my writing time (and mental energy) hasn't been what it usually is. Our busy time should be over after this week, so hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly from now on! :)

***/*/*/*/***

Everything happens in less than two minutes.  A freakishly tall, freakishly blond man in battered armor who could give Thor a run for his money in the ‘Literally a Norse God’ pageant calls him out as a damnable Stark—not the most creative of insults, really, but Tony’s willing to play the game—so he raises an eyebrow and says, “Another ass...gardian come to visit?  Thor _will_ be thrilled.”

The man’s mouth twists into a sneer.  “I see you make as much as sense as your Stark brethren, and mayhaps less than most.  Are you another of Lord Eddard’s bastards, one bold enough to steal his name?”

“People usually know me for more than a few seconds before they call me bastard.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, putting a warning hand on his arm.

Tony glances at her and decides to change tactics.

“Role-playing to impress the ladies, I see.” Tony’s gaze flicks to the freakishly taller and just as freakishly blonde woman beside the wannabe Norse god.  She’s as well-armored as the man, her hand wrapped tight around the hilt of her sword.  She may also be a literal Norse god but she likely wouldn’t win any pageants:  her face is plain, freckled, and scarred which makes her even more intimidating, but her eyes are large, blue and almost as gorgeous as Pepper’s.  “Wow,” he says, impressed.  “I’m not sure how well you handle that sword, lady, but I’d love to put you in one of my suits.”

The giant blond man growls and looms suddenly larger in Tony’s vision.

_“Don’t move!”_

They turn and stare.  Tony’s heart sinks when he sees the man, who had been beside the Asgardians when he walked into the precinct, now has his gun pointed squarely at the Norse god’s chest.  _And he has a lot of chest, damn him_ , Tony thinks vaguely even as he realizes the room is now packed, mostly with people who look like civilians and his new friends from Starfleet, all gaping at the spectacle in front of them.  Judging from the expressions on Nathan and Audrey’s faces as they hurry towards them, and the way Duke is glaring, and the way Dwight is stepping out from behind him and Pepper and moving to one side, this guy is just dumb enough to pull the trigger in a crowded squad room full of cops and civilians...and Starfleet...and Asgardians...

“This town is officially weird,” he mutters in Pepper’s general direction as he shifts her behind him even though unless the bullet can travel at right angles, or the guy points that thing in their direction, they’re perfectly safe.  Besides, Dwight is right beside him and between the two of them, they’ll be able to take this guy down before he could fire a second shot, although that might still be too late for the Norse gods if they’re not really Thor’s...well...brethren, for lack of a better word.

Pepper’s only response is a soft snort in his ear.

“Mitchell,” Dwight snaps, but the Norse god speaks over him.

“What is that puny thing?” he drawls, frowning at Mitchell.  “And what is it he holds in his hands?”

Everything happens at once, then:  the male Asgardian takes a step closer to Mitchell while a mix of voices shout ‘no’ then there’s the crack of several guns going off at once—and Dwight hits the ground, dust puffing up as bullets strike his chest.  Tony and Pepper drop to their knees beside him, McCoy is there a split second later along with a dark-haired woman Tony doesn’t know, all frantically ripping Dwight’s shirt open to staunch the bleeding—only to stop short at the sight of a kevlar vest now dotted with several crumpled bullets.  They stare at the sight for a moment then sag with relief.

“For god’s sake, Mitchell!” Duke yells, and Tony glances up to see the two armored Asgardians have Mitchell pressed up against the counter, their swords at his throat.  “You know better than that!”

Audrey holds out her hands, palms out.  “Put the swords away,” she says, her voice calm and soothing.  “Please.  And Mitchell, give me that thing before you do any more damage.”

“They’re threatening me!”  Mitchell’s eyes are wild as he holds himself as still as possible.  “They _were_ threatening him!”

“So you decided to shoot at them?” Nathan demands, hands on his hips.  “With Dwight standing _right there_?”

Mitchell’s defiant expression turns guilty as the two Asgardians exchange glances then lower their swords although they don’t return them to their sheathes.  Mitchell says, “I just...did you see what these assholes did to that car outside?”

“Let me guess,” Duke says with more than enough withering sarcasm to make Tony proud, “it was _your_ car.”

Mitchell flushes as he hands his gun to Audrey then gives a still-supine Dwight a sheepish look.  “Sorry about that, man.  I forgot.”

“Good thing I didn’t,” Dwight groans as he sits up and rubs his chest.  He frowns.  “Who else fired their weapon?  I’ve got at least three bullets in here.”

Tony glances up at the crowd of people surrounding them.  A brunette woman and a dark-haired man lower their guns while Kirk and Spock re-holster their phasers.

Kirk says, “Don’t blame us!  The phasers aren’t operational in this universe.  I grabbed it by instinct.”

“Wait,” says the brown-haired woman kneeling beside Dwight, “how did you get shot?  He fired at point blank range!”  Her eyes widen and she twists in the opposite direction to stare at Kirk.  “‘ _In this universe_ ’?”

Kirk smirks and shrugs while Spock says, “You are correct.  It is impossible for the trajectory of the bullet to curve in that gentleman’s direction...unless the laws of physics are different in this universe, which would be fascinating.”

The brown-haired man who didn’t have a gun lights up.  “Are you saying you’re _really_ an alien?”

The brunette woman who did have a gun rolls her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Beckett!  They’re saying they’re aliens! Real aliens!”

“Castle.  Please.  They’re not even the first people we’ve met this week who’ve claimed to be aliens. We live in New York, remember?”

Castle deflates into a pout.

“Well, you’re not far wrong about the physics...” Duke mutters.

“But only in Haven,” Nathan says.

“Dwight is a bullet magnet,” Audrey says.  “That’s his Trouble.”

“His _what_?”

Tony winces.  So many people screeching at once is hard on the ears.

“We’ll explain in a minute,” Nathan says.  “Right now, Rebecca’s going to confiscate your weapons.”

“Hey, Nathan,” Duke says with an evil smile, “why didn’t you do that before?”

Nathan’s cheeks turn a dull red as he glares at Duke.  “The phasers didn’t work.  Why would I think their guns would work?”

“Because they’re _guns_ , Nathan!”

“Duke,” Audrey says, “give him a break.  I never thought of it either.”

Duke subsides, but his grin is positively evil as Nathan’s glare intensifies.

The tall, way-too-skinny bearded man shakes his head.  “Americans,” he says and the disgust in his voice is almost as thick as his Scottish accent.  He turns to the curly-haired woman standing next to him.  “Is this what they’re like on the telly, Miller?”

“Oh, my god...”

The crowd surrounding Dwight parts like the Red Sea to reveal the new speaker, a young woman, her eyes wide and shocked, her hands clutching the strap of her backpack in what can only be described as a death grip.

“Oh, my god...” she says again, her eyes darting from person to person but lingering longest on the two Asgardians.  “Oh.  My.  _God!_ ”

“What?” Duke snaps, scowling.

“They’re mine!  They all are!  I _drew_ them!”

*/*/*/*/*


	27. Audrey Parker (Haven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Brief mentions of captivity, restraints, and human remains.

***/*/*/*/***

They have to drag in more chairs but they finally have everyone herded into the boardroom and clustered, more or less, around the table, the surface of which is almost entire obscured with case files.  Only the knights are standing, their backs pressed against the wall, and considering their size and what looks like extremely heavy, battered armor, Audrey doesn’t blame them for refusing to trust the frail looking chairs available in the Haven PD.  She’s also impressed that, after one gaping look around the room, and one long, motionless stare at the lights in the ceiling, both knights are now firmly focused on her and her Haven colleagues.

Audrey sweeps her gaze over their other guests and doesn’t know if she should laugh or turn around and go in search of a Trouble where she doesn’t have to explain to a dozen or so people—she glances at Spock—all right, _entities,_ that they’re figments of someone’s imagination given form.  Or maybe she could find a less prolific Trouble, like dreams coming true or someone sneezing out butterflies.  _That would be a nice one_ , she thinks wistfully.  _Relatively harmless and pretty._

But there’s a young woman who’s still missing, and six more people since last night.

“We’ll tell you about the Troubles in a minute but first things first,” Audrey says, her voice brisk.  “Those of you who arrived this morning:  who are you and what do you know?”

Six voices start speaking at once and she holds up her hand.  “Okay.  Who was first?”

“Beck and Heather,” Nathan says, nodding at the couple in question.  “They arrived not long before you did with Jarell.”

She nods.  “Who was next?”

Duke says, “Alec Hardy and Ellie Miller, detectives from across the pond.”  For some reason, the last phrase is said in a horrible attempt at an English accent.

Hardy rolls his eyes.  “Really?”

Miller gives him a sharp nudge with her elbow then gives everyone an apologetic, toothy smile.  “He’s not very good with people.”

Audrey bites back a smile of her own and turns to the two knights who still look intimidating yet somehow naked now that their swords are with Rebecca behind the front counter along with the guns and phasers.

“So that leaves the two of you.”

“Lady Brienne of Tarth,” says the woman, half-bowing.

The man smirks at his companion then also bows.  “Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

There’s a moment of silence then Tony Stark says, “Kingsguard, Asgard, close enough.”

Castle’s eyes are as large as saucers as he whispers, “I know them.  Oh, my god.”  He looks at Jarell.  “Is this really your doing?”

Jarell blushes and looks away but before Audrey can step in, Beckett nudges her partner, although much more gently than Miller had done with Hardy.  She and Castle exchange a look and Castle says nothing more, although his expression is rapt as he stares at Jaime and Brienne.

Audrey presses her lips together against the gurgle of what feels like hysterical laughter that’s struggling to escape, and says, “Okay.”  She points at Beck and Heather.  “What do you know?”

Beck says, “She escaped.”

“Good,” Tony mutters.

Beck gives him a thoughtful look then continues.  “She spent the night outside beneath a pine tree.  This morning, sometime after sunrise, he was nearby.  We could hear his voice.  On a phone, I presume.”

“Any idea who he was talking to?”

Beck pauses, thinking, then shakes his head.  “I could hear his voice but not his words.  He could have been talking to himself.”

Audrey nods then turns her attention to Hardy and Miller.

“There _are_ two of them,” Hardy says.  He turns his dark-eyed gaze on Beck and nods.  “He was on the phone, with his partner.  She’s also stumbled upon human remains.  Nothing but bones, poor thing.” His face scrunches into a scowl as he searches his memory.  “Most likely another poor girl who fell victim to this man and his friend in their cabin in the woods.”  His scowl turns into an expression of righteous pride.  “She’s _angry,_ now.  Right and proper angry, for herself and for that poor girl in the woods.”

Audrey exchanges a glance with Nathan and Duke.  Still nothing they can use.  A cabin in the woods is a dime a dozen around Haven, and stumbling upon human remains during a random search is next to impossible, unless someone has a Trouble that lets them find corpses.  _That would be helpful right about now_ , she thinks.

She hides a sigh and turns to the knights.

“We know their names,” Brienne says and there’s a collective hiss as everyone sucks in their breath.  “One is Kip.  Young.  I was about to take his head when...”  She stops and lifts a hand to the back of her head, her puzzled scowl making her scars and freckles twist and jump.

“There is also a Connett,” Jaime says, his green eyes gleaming as he scratches his cheek with his gold hand, “which is too much like Ronnet and even less pleasant to the ear.”

There’s a moment of frozen silence then everyone bursts into motion at once.

Nathan bolts through the door into the squad room, calling for Rebecca and whoever else might be within earshot, and Audrey hears him ordering them to search the databases and bring him a list of every Kip and Connett they can find.  Dwight is already yelling into his phone, telling the person on the other end the same.  The detectives start sliding case files across the table to everyone, including Jaime and Brienne.  Booth and Beckett are snapping orders, telling everyone to search through each file for any reference to either of those names.  Hardy and Miller look almost relieved as two files slide to a halt in front of them, and they each grab one while Brennan and Castle, Beck and Heather, Tony and Pepper, and the Starfleet officers do the same with theirs.  Jaime and Brienne look bewildered as Brienne gingerly touches the pile of paper in front of her with one finger.

“Do you read English?” Castle asks, eyes bright with interest.

“Is that a language of Essos?” Jaime says with a frown.

“Well, it’s what we’re speaking now...”

“Ah.  You mean the Common Tongue.”

Castle pauses then shrugs.  “Sure.  Why not?”

Jaime and Brienne exchange a glance then open the files and stare at what, Audrey realizes, is likely to be unfamiliar typeface, given the era they appear to be from.

“Do you have the printing press in your universe?” she asks.

Their blank expressions are the only answer she needs.

Nathan returns as Duke says, “How do you know the names?”

Brienne frowns.  “There was...I was...we were in a battle.  And I had Kip on his knees in front of me.  I intended to take his head but I...” Her frown deepens.  “I woke?”  She reaches for the hilt of her sword but her hand closes on empty air and her frown deepens.  “The man still lives.  That is all I know.”

The swords are behind the front desk with Rebecca along with the guns and... Audrey’s gaze is caught by Tony, humming softly as he tinkers with one of the now open phasers, tiny parts strewn on the table in front of him beside a leather-bound toolkit filled with delicate screwdrivers and picks.

_What?_   The phasers, too, are supposed to be with Rebecca, and the case file Tony’s supposed to be reviewing has been haphazardly shoved in front of Pepper, whose strawberry-blonde head is already bent over another one.

“Tony,” Audrey says, her voice sharp.

He glances up, his eyes wide, looking as innocent as Tony Stark is capable of looking.

“Hm?”

Which isn’t much.

Audrey stares back at him then shakes her head.  “You’re going to let Pepper do all the work?” she says but she can’t keep the hint of fond exasperation from her voice.  _I’ve always had a weakness for bad boys trying to do good,_ she thinks, glancing at Duke, then Nathan.  _And for bad boys who think they’re good._

“Pepper’s better at that kind of stuff than I am,” Tony shrugs, turning his attention back to the opened phaser.  “Besides, I’ve already flipped through all that paper and there’s no Kip or Connett mentioned.  You know, you should consider going paperless, put all that stuff in a database.  I can build you an AI program that can pull up anything you need whenever you need it.  If you want.”  He grins as he removes yet another part from the phaser and holds it up to the light.  “You know, considering this was supposedly created from nothing, it’s surprisingly complex inside.”

Nathan mutters, “You know, I’m not sure we should let him near that thing...”

Pepper glances up and gives him a rueful smile.  “At least he’s occupied.  A bored Tony Stark is an unbearable Tony Stark.”

Tony gives her a mock-offended glare then gives a rueful shrug in agreement before turning his attention back to the inner workings of the phaser.

“I have a Kip!” Castle yelps.

“And I have a Connett,” Heather says, her face lighting up with a grin that makes Beck do a double-take.

“Good,” Brienne says, her hand once again going to the back of her head, “for I fear they have captured her again.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Fenley (Haven)**

It’s cold.

And she can’t move.

Fear gnaws at her mind but more than fear there is... _rage_.

She slowly opens her eyes, her head pounding, her jaw aching.  It takes her several minutes before she understands she’s once more in the cabin and shackled to the bed.  Naked. 

And gagged.

*/*/*/*/*


	28. Duke Crocker (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

Nathan sends a couple of his officers to track down the addresses they have on file for both Kip and Connett, and things finally calm enough for Audrey to turn to the crowd of people in the boardroom and motion for silence.

She takes a deep breath and says, “All right.  Now that we have a little bit of time, we’ll tell you about the Troubles.”

*/*/*/*/*

It doesn’t take as long as Duke expected.  They don’t really ask very many questions, most likely because they have two knights in not-so-shining armor, a pointy-eared, green-blooded Vulcan, and a man who was shot with bullets traveling at right angles right there in room with them.

Brennan is the most vocally skeptical, and she continues arguing and providing alternative explanations long after everyone else has fallen silent until Booth puts his hand over hers and says, “We can argue it out later, once we’ve found Fenley.”

Which isn’t to say Booth isn’t just as skeptical, or Beckett. Judging from the expressions in their eyes, they’ve decided to take a wait and see attitude.  Beck and Heather are subdued but Duke sees Beck calculating the distance to the door before he glances at the guns Audrey and Nathan are carrying.  His eyes flick to Duke and Dwight, and Duke sees Beck is not afraid although his gaze is coldly assessing.  A shiver runs down Duke’s spine as he suspects the other man already has a plan on how to take all of them down with the least amount of casualties.

Ellie Miller, however, oozes warmth and compassion, until Duke looks more closely and sees her wide, obsequious grin is clearly broadcasting she’s humoring them like she would her village eccentric until she can decide if they’re actually dangerous.  Hardy’s expression, on the other hand, could be in the dictionary beside the phrase ‘Bullshit Detector Activated’ even though he hasn’t said a word.  Castle is almost blissful, grinning and barely stopping himself from bouncing like a puppy in his chair.  Duke wonders if he understands this Trouble means he doesn’t truly exist, but then again, they haven’t started getting into the specifics of Fenley’s and Jarell’s Troubles yet. 

The Starfleet officers have been sitting in silence, watching everyone else, once they proposed that everyone had simply ( _simply!_ ) crossed universes. Tony’s barely looked up from the phaser except to agree with Starfleet and to put his arm around an obviously nervous Pepper and whisper something in her ear that made her roll her eyes, blush, and smile.  Surprisingly enough, Jaime and Brienne take the Troubles in stride, and, when pressed, explain they come from a world once ruled by dragons and magic and where Brienne has just met a dead woman brought back to life.

There’s a moment of silence after that.  Even Tony looks up to stare at her and Duke imagines he can hear all the gears grinding as the various brains in the room try to decide which question to ask Brienne first.

Jarell gets there first.  “Let’s accept for a moment all of these people are here because of a Trouble... _my_ Trouble.  I still don’t understand.  Why _now_?”

“Troubles activate due to intense emotion,” Audrey says gently.  “Love, fear, grief, happiness, anger...it doesn’t matter.  Your sister’s gone missing and you’re losing your mind with worry.  It doesn’t get much more intense than that.”

“That explains why we have been drawn here,” Spock says, “but it does not explain why we all have knowledge of Fenley’s situation, no matter how insignificant that knowledge may be.”

“We believe there are two Troubles at work,” Nathan says.  “Tony, you said Fenley was telling stories that put her captor to sleep.”

Tony looks up, nods, then goes back to tinkering with the phaser.  “She was hoping it was something she could use to make a break for it.”

“Wait,” Pepper says, “Fenley was the person you were talking to?”

Tony looks up again, startled.  “It must have been,” he says.  He frowns, searching his memory then shakes his head.  “It’s odd.  I remember our conversation, Pepper, and I know I was talking more to her than to you, but I can’t really grasp details.  I feel like there’s more there, just out of reach.”

There’s a momentary silence, then Castle says, “I know exactly what you mean.  I feel like, if I close my eyes I can see the room around her, but I can’t find the words to describe it.”

Soon, everyone is nodding or voicing their agreement.

“Okay,” Audrey says, “so Fenley’s Trouble is telling stories that put people to sleep, and the characters she uses for those stories end up with trace memories of her thoughts.”  She turns to Jarell. “You said you drew all these people?”

Jarell nods and reaches for her backpack.  She pulls out a notebook and hands it to Audrey. “Fenley writes fanfiction.  I draw art for her stories.”  Jarell’s face tightens.  “It’s...something we can share, despite our age difference.”

Audrey flips open the notebook and Duke, Nathan, and Dwight crowd around to look over her shoulders.  With each turn of the page, they see another beautifully detailed, life-like drawing of one or more of the people now in the room with them.

Audrey pauses on one of Castle and Beckett, and they stare from the picture to the two people sitting at the table.  _Everything is the same,_ Duke thinks, _right down to that slightly exaggerated peaked arch to Castle’s left eyebrow._

“Incredible,” Audrey breathes.  She hands the notebook to Castle and Beckett, who stare at the picture before reluctantly passing it over to Booth and Brennan, and from them, to the rest of the people in the room.

“But how?” Jarell says.

“Have you looked at that notebook since Fenley’s been kidnapped?” Nathan asks.

She frowns then nods.  “When I first realized she was missing.  Realized...” she stops, her hands curling into fists again, and takes a deep breath.  “When I realized she was really missing and not just running late.  When I saw how you reacted.”

Audrey exchanges a glance with Nathan.  “How _we_ reacted?”

“You were perfectly professional.  But you were worried.  I could tell.”  She nods at the various detectives at the table.  “I’ve also watched enough of those shows to know police usually wait forty-eight hours before they’ll even consider an adult to be a missing person, especially if there’s no immediate signs of foul play.  You two jumped on the case right away.”  She scowls down at her clenched hands.  “That was a bad sign.”

Audrey nods.  “Then what did you do?”

“I was out of my mind with worry,” Jarell says, “so after I looked for Fenley in all the usual places, I went home.  Tried to draw something, to take my mind off things, to keep calm.  But I couldn’t.  So I...”  Her eyes widen with dawning realization.  “I don’t believe in God, not after everyone I’ve lost...but I flipped through that notebook and prayed for heroes.”

*/*/*/*/*


	29. Duke Crocker (Haven)

***/*/*/*/***

There’s silence until Heather says, “But...then...why am I here?  I mean...I’m an elementary school science teacher!  I can help you tune up your cars and keep a rent-a-wreck running on nothing but hope and a few pieces of twine, but if you want me to help you _rescue_ somebody...”  She spreads her hands in a helpless shrug.  “I’m the person who runs and gets somebody else to help.”

Beck’s eyes are warm although his expression doesn’t change.  “You’re selling yourself short, Heather.”

Heather shakes her head.  “I’m being realistic.  If I’m here because Jarell needs people who can ride to Fenley’s rescue, then she should have...I don’t know...asked for Jake and Hawkins, not me!”

For the first time, Jarell’s mouth curves into something that might have been a smile.  “Fenley would disagree with you.  Oh, she likes Jake, and she really likes Hawkins, but she loves you and Beck.  It’s why she writes stories about you.  To her, the two of you are the heroes.”

Heather’s eyes are wide and disbelieving, then she straightens in her chair.  “I don’t know what I can do to help...but I’ll do whatever I can.”

“And that just proves she’s right,” Jarell says.

There’s another moment of silence then Hardy says, “It’s taking a long time to run those searches.”

Nathan sighs.  “Our databases are a little slow. We’re not that big of a town.”

Tony glances up.  “Offer’s on the table.”

Duke bites back a laugh at Nathan’s suddenly terrified expression and his faint, “Not sure if letting Tony Stark get his hands on our computers is a good thing or a bad thing.”

Tony gives him a pitying look then goes back to his tinkering.

“Is there _nothing_ we can do while we’re waiting?” Booth finally says with a note of exasperation.  “No witnesses we can question?”

“No crime scene to investigate?” Beckett says.

“No bones to examine?” Brennan says.

“No other suspects we can interrogate?” Hardy says.

Audrey glances at Jarell.  “We do have a body...”

Jarell’s hands curl into fists before she forces herself to relax again.

“I can look at the x-rays,” Brennan says.

“I can look at the body,” McCoy says.  “Although given your primitive technology, my conclusions won’t be as robust as usual.”

Duke bites back a laugh at the look on Brennan’s face.

Audrey clears her throat.  “Gloria will be delighted to show you the ropes,” she says, and now Duke does laugh.

“Better than Dr. Lucassi,” Nathan mutters.  “He scared me.”

“He scared all of us,” Audrey says, “especially at the end.”

Brennan’s eyes are wide.  “How did he die?”

Nathan says, “He didn’t.  He just ran off with the neighbour’s cats.”

Kirk clears his throat in the charged silence that follows Nathan’s statement.  “Well, that takes care of some of us,” he says.  “There must be something the rest of us can do.”

“We have the files,” Heather says, a helpful lilt to her voice.

Pepper gives her a smile and nods before looking at the detectives.  “I doubt you’ve managed to go through all of them in just a few hours.  Or cross-referenced the data in any meaningful way.”

“We started a murder board,” Castle says, a little defensively.

“And it’s lovely,” Pepper says, her smile polished and professionally soothing.  She turns to look at it.  “Rather bare.”

“We’re only just getting started,” Beckett says.

“And we don’t know if all of these files are related,” Audrey says.  “That’s what we were trying to determine when everyone starting showing up.”

Heather and Pepper exchange glances as they each grab a file and Heather moves to sit beside Pepper.  Spock raises an eyebrow and joins them while Dwight hurries to find them pens and paper.

Jaime, meanwhile, is scowling.  He and Brienne are now sitting rather gingerly at the table.  They’ve removed their armor but appear no less intimidating.

“What can we do?” Jaime asks.  “We are knights, not maesters.”

Audrey frowns.  “Maesters?”  She shakes her head.  “Never mind.  You’re skilled with swords, and although those are still intimidating, they’re not very useful against a gun.”  She turns to Dwight. “Think you can use them?”

Dwight eyes them.  “Absolutely.  Once the bullets stop flying.”

Audrey winces.  “Right.”

Dwight shrugs.  “We will have a cabin to breach,” he says to Jaime and Brienne, “although probably not in the way you’re used to.”

“Are your cabins as difficult to besiege as a castle?” Brienne asks.

“What?” Castle says, looking up from his own case file, then gives them a sheepish grin.  “Sorry.  Not used to hearing people talking about real castles.”

Dwight smiles and says, “Not near as difficult as a castle, but the principles are the same.”

“Siege warfare?” Booth says skeptically.  “Is that the best you can do? I’m a former sniper.  If I have to, I can take these guys out before they even know we’re there.”

Jaime considers him.  “An archer?”  His tone of voice tells Duke all he needs to know about Jaime’s opinion of archers.

Booth glares, then blinks and grins.  “In a way I am, I suppose.”

Beck says, “I’m a military man as well.”

“As am I,” Dwight says.

“As are we,” Kirk says, gesturing to include McCoy and Spock in his statement.

McCoy glances up from where he’s been conferring with Brennan.  “Speak for yourself,” he says.  “I consider myself a doctor, Jim, not a soldier.”

Duke’s eyes meet Nathan’s and he can see they’re both biting back an urge to whoop.  Most of their guests already think they’re insane.  There’s no need to prove them right.

Kirk just grins at McCoy, and Duke watches in bemusement as the military men and the knights assess each other then tilt their heads in silent acknowledgement.  _From the twenty-third century to what looks like the thirteenth, some things never change_ , he thinks.

Booth turns to Duke and his fellow Havenites and says, “I’m assuming you don’t have a SWAT team we can call?”

They laugh.

Booth grins.  “Well, you do now.”

*/*/*/*/*

Duke leans against the wall behind Jarell and watches as the people in the room drift in and out of groups and conversations.  McCoy and Brennan are spouting off medical jargon, although they’re obviously very different kinds of doctors and from very different time periods, with Spock weighing in on occasion.  Tony is still tinkering with the phaser, apparently oblivious to the muted chaos around him until he lifts his head to add something relevant to a conversation, which only proves he’s been listening to, well, everything being said in the room.  The soldiers are strategizing, trying to predict every scenario and develop a plan for each.  The detectives, including Nathan and Audrey, have wandered over to the murder board, adding notes to it while Heather and Pepper pore over the files, flagging those things they think may be connected.  Castle, meanwhile, is in the thick of it with the detectives, but is also very obviously on the outside, observing everything.

Castle notices Duke watching and eases away from the murder board to join Duke.  Jarell turns in her chair and stares up at them, her eyes hopeful.

“You seem a little outside all of this,” Castle says, his boyishly handsome face creased with a smirk.

Duke grins.  “I could say the same about you.”

Castle shrugs.  “My strength is thinking outside the box, coming up with theories that make Beckett and Ryan and Esposito think of things in a different way and hopefully help them make a breakthrough.  You?”

Duke laughs.  “The same, I guess.  In a way.  I’m certainly someone who doesn’t let rules get in my way.”

Castle grins.  “I think there are a few of us like that in this room.”

Jarell’s hopeful expression turns into a glare.  “Enjoy yourselves later,” she growls.  “My sister is still out there.”

For a moment, Castle looks chagrined, then thoughtful.  “If it’s true that we’re fictional characters brought to life by your drawings, how is it that we all seem to have memories from the stories Fenley was telling her captors?”

“How the hell would I know?” Jarell snaps.  “I’d be better off putting the last of my posters up and then heading out into the woods. At least now I know she’s not in Haven proper.”

Castle gives her what Duke can only describe as a sad puppy look.  “If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll help you do that.  I know what it’s like to have someone you love held captive and being virtually helpless to do anything about it.  But I was just thinking...if we came into existence because of your desire for heroes instead of Fenley’s storytelling then that’s too bad.  We might have been able to use your Trouble to keep an eye on her.”

Jarell and Duke stare at him.

“What on earth do you mean by that?” Jarell says.

Castle shrugs.  “Speaking as a fellow writer...although only for myself, I suppose...the characters we write about are always _there_ , in the back of our minds. From what you’ve said and what we know, your Trouble seems to have plucked us out of Fenley’s mind while she was telling stories about us.  If we could find a way to make your Trouble work in...well, not reverse, exactly, but—”

“Oh my god,” Duke breathes.  “AUDREY!”

*/*/*/*/*


	30. Fenley (Haven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Non-graphic disturbing content including captivity, bondage, threats of violence, and implied torture/violence.  **Please read responsibly.**

***/*/*/*/***

_Let me tell you a story,_ Fenley thinks.

Nothing.

She glares at Kip and Connett, and at least her rage and terror muffles the pain in her head from the blow Connett had given her.  She doesn’t know how long she’s been awake, what time it is or even what day it is.  She opened her eyes to find them standing over her and they might have been there for hours or only seconds.  Not that it matters.

“Let me tell you a story,” she says, or tries to, but it only comes out as a muffled garble and they look at her with amusement, their heads tilted to one side as if she were some particularly interesting lab specimen.

“I don’t know what’s going on, man,” Connett says, “but it looks like you were right about gagging her.”  He pouts.  “Too bad.  I like hearing them scream.”

Fenley feels tears prick at her eyes and she squeezes them shut, willing them away.  She’ll be crying soon enough, she knows.  She hears one of them move and she panics, opening her eyes.

She blinks and blinks again.  Connett has a tiny knife in his hand, the blade glinting beneath the bedroom light.  Kip is beside him, and behind Kip and to his left, Fenley glimpses Brienne of Tarth, Oathkeeper raised high before she swings it against his neck.

Fenley flinches, clamping her eyes closed.  She opens them when she hears her captors’ low laughs.  Kip is unharmed...of course.  _Brienne wasn’t really there, no matter how hard you wish for her.  No one is going to rescue you and now they’ve taken away your only weapon._

Connett is grinning and Fenley is surprised he isn’t actually drooling.  “Maybe I’ll get to hear her scream after all.”  He steps aside and Fenley sees, on the dresser behind him, more knives laid out in a row.  For a split second, Fenley imagines Jaime Lannister is leaning in to inspect them, a contemptuous sneer upon his face.

But he’s gone in a moment and she’s never felt so alone and scared and vulnerable and helpless.

Connett laughs again, low, lascivious, almost the laugh of a lover, as he moves closer, and Fenley’s almost hypnotized by the glitter of the blade in his hand.

“Don’t hurt it too much yet,” Kip says, sounding almost bored.  “Remember what happened last time?  That one would have lasted much longer if you hadn’t made it lose so much blood.”

Connett grins.  “I won’t,” he purrs, “not yet.  I just want one little scream, maybe two, after all the shit she put me through.  Besides, we still need more ‘before’ pictures.”

_Let me tell you a story,_ she thinks again, hoping she can tell one to herself, remembering how her stories had calmed her after she realized she was trapped by that _fucking_ wall, but her mind stays stubbornly blank.  Even her favorite characters have deserted her, it seems.  Not that she blames them.

_I’m dead_ , she thinks as she finally stops fighting her tears, even though she hates herself for showing such weakness in front of these monsters.  _I’m dead, but first they’ll make me scream._

**Go away inside.**

She blinks to clear her vision even as the tears continue trickling down her cheeks, and frowns.  _What...?_

**Let them have the meat and go away inside, to a place where they can not touch you.**

She swears she hears Jaime Lannister, whispering in her ear.

**Dream of us, if you love us.**

And now it’s Brienne, murmuring in her other ear.

**Dream of your sister, of the sea, of whatever you love most.**

_It won’t work_ , she whimpers, and Connett’s smile widens at the small, desperate sound.  _I’ll scream.  Just like Jaime._

**There is no shame in screaming** , Jaime says, and now Fenley can almost feel him beside her.  **There is no shame in breaking.**

**You are not alone,** Brienne says and Fenley imagines ghostly fingers brushing through her hair, soothing, calming.  **But we must leave you now.**

_No.  No!  Don’t go!_

**You will not be alone for long,** Brienne whispers, and Fenley wishes she could make them both real, here, in this room, with their swords to protect her.  **We will carry back the message.**

_Message?_

**Heather and Pepper are here now** , Jaime murmurs **, but we must go.**

And while Fenley can’t see Heather and Pepper, she can feel them:  warm and kind, earnest and sincere, bright and loving.

Then the knife, sharp and cold, and Fenley gives him what he wants.

*/*/*/*/*


	31. Brienne of Tarth (ASOIAF)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. My muses and I had a temporary falling out. I've grovelled, they've apologized, we've hugged it out and we seem to be all good again (we hope). ;D

***/*/*/*/***

There’s a feeling of vertigo as the bed chamber disappears and in an instant, Brienne is back in the council room with everyone else the members of House Haven claim to be fictional characters.  She’s disoriented, confused.  She knows she and Jaime were talking to Fenley, soothing the poor girl as best they could, but she also knows they never truly left this place.  Jaime is beside her, looking as dazed as she feels.  He glances at their companions before his gaze meets hers and the blood rushes into her cheeks even as his eyes make her feel grounded again, solid.

_Real._

She blinks then turns her attention to Heather and Pepper.  The two women are sitting still, staring off into space, although their hands resting on the table are slightly curled, cupped around something no one else can see.

“Is she alive?”

Brienne starts and looks at the woman who had spoken.  Jarell stares intently at them.  A muscle in her jaw is jumping, her knuckles are white, and Brienne imagines she hears a soft thrumming radiating from her tense shoulders.

“Yes,” Jaime says.

Heather and Pepper let out soft, keening wails and Jarell leaps from her chair.  Beck and Tony do the same, Tony dropping his odd-shaped knife on the table with a clatter as he does so.  Nathan and Duke call their names, stopping them in their tracks, while Audrey puts a restraining hand on Jarell’s arm.  Brienne doesn’t know how Jarell was able to send them to Fenley but she suspects everyone is worried that anything that disturbs Heather and Pepper will break the connection with the girl that felt as delicate—and as inescapable—as a spider’s web.

Heather and Pepper fall silent although tears trickle down their cheeks.  Everyone watches them for another long moment before they turn back to Brienne and Jaime.

“Did you learn anything that might help us find her?” Audrey asks.

Brienne scowls, her memory already fading, then her face clears.  “There’s a wall.”

Jaime frowns then nods.  “A wall with no exit that Fenley could find.”

Duke, Nathan, and Dwight exchange glances, then in unison say, “The Weinbauer place.”

Dwight pulls out the flat metallic object he had used once before only this time he presses it against his ear after he pokes at it while Nathan says, “The perfect killing ground.  I should have thought of it before.”

“The _where_?” Audrey says, her pretty face creasing into a puzzled frown.

“Mel Weinbauer was a recluse and paranoid.  Hated Haven and everyone in it, especially the Troubled who he believed were sent specifically to kill him.  He lived in a cabin out in the woods, built a wall around it, and came into town only when he absolutely had to.  He claimed he built a single hidden door that only he could find, but once you see this thing you’re going to wonder if it was made by a Trouble instead.”

Duke says, “When the Troubles returned the last time, he disappeared  behind his wall and never came back.”  There’s a cynical edge to Duke’s grin.  “Legend has it he starved to death rather than risk running into the Troubles.”

Nathan nods.  “Nobody went to check on him until about a year after the Troubles ended the last time.  My dad and a couple of other uniforms took a ladder, did some scouting around.”  He shrugs.  “Weinbauer was nowhere to be found.  As far as I know, nobody’s been out there since.  It’s remote even for Haven so it’s not like kids stumble across it that easily.  Hunters maybe.”

“Besides,” Duke adds, “nobody wants to tempt fate if the wall really was built by a Trouble.  Most people probably don’t even remember the place is there.”

“Well,” Audrey says, “Connett and Kip managed to find the place and find a way in.”  She turns to Brienne and Jaime.  “Anything else?  Anything at all?”

Brienne scowls, her hand dropping to her waist and closing on empty air as she wracks her memory.

“They’re using knives,” Jaime says.  He nods at Heather and Pepper.  “That is likely what they’re feeling.”

Brienne nods.  “But they—the men—they want to...”  she frowns, unsure of what exactly the captors meant.  “They want to take ‘before pictures’?”

Their audience stares at them, expressionless, then Beckett turns to the others and says, “Souvenirs.  With luck that’s what will keep her alive until we can find her.”

Audrey turns to Jarell.  “Can you bring one of them back?”

Jarell glares then nods.  She looks down at her notebook, finds the picture of Pepper, and brushes her hand over it, her brow beetled in thought.

Pepper blinks, slumping back in her chair.  Tony is there in a heartbeat, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She leans into him with a tremulous smile and Brienne’s heart clenches as they murmur softly to each other before Pepper turns to Jarell and says.  “She’s still alive.  Connett...cut her—but they’re shallow.”  She grimaces.  “Not that it feels that way, but they’re shallow.”  She glances at Heather.  “They’re taking pictures now.”

“Did you see any weapons?” Dwight asks.  “Guns?”

Pepper shakes her head.  “Just the knives.”  She grimaces.  “They’re more than enough.”

“If there’s no door in this wall,” Castle says, “we’ll need ladders to get over it.”

“Or a trebuchet,” Jaime says and everyone stares at him for a long, silent moment.

Tony says, “I like the way you think, Asgardian, but, you know, it may just be easier to make our own door.”

“Explosives will draw their attention,” Booth says.

“And they’ll kill Fenley before we’re even halfway to the cabin,” Beckett says, “no matter how close to the wall it may be.”  She looks at Jarell.  “Sorry.”

Jarell scowls but says nothing.

Tony grins as he stretches across the table and picks up the strange thing he’d been working on.  It is now closed once again, sleek and metallic.  “I think this will work better,” he says as he aims the thing above Brienne’s head and presses the trigger.

A beam of light streaks out, everyone ducks and Brienne hears screams both inside and outside the council room, even as she and Jaime scramble for swords that aren’t there.  When she behind her, she sees a burned hole, still smouldering, high above her head, and through it, the ceiling of the room beyond.

They pour out of the council room, peering round, then visibly sag with relief.

“Everyone’s okay,” Nathan says, then turns on Tony.  “What were you thinking?”

Tony shrugs.  “Unless you have a Trouble that makes someone nine feet tall, it was pretty safe.”  He tosses the weapon up and catches it before Kirk reaches over and yanks it out of his hand.

“ _My_ phaser,” Kirk growls.

“And if anyone gets to be reckless with it, it’s him,” McCoy says.

Tony raises an eyebrow then grins.  “Fair enough.  Worked better than I expected although I’d be careful once you set it to kill, though.  No telling what it might do.”

Duke stares at him, expressionless, then turns to the room at large and yells, “All right, who thought it was a good idea to give Tony _fucking_ Stark a screwdriver?”  He points a trembling finger at Tony, his mouth opening and closing before he finally says, “Where did you get the parts to fix that thing?”

Tony preens then deflates when he catches sight of Pepper’s glare.  “Well, Pepper’s cell phone wasn’t doing anything, so...”

Duke pinches the bridge of his nose, Audrey and Nathan give him incredulous stares, and Dwight shakes his head as he slips the flat tablet back into his pocket.

“Well,” Dwight says, “that thing might come in handy if it can burn a hole through a concrete wall.  I’m not taking any chances, though.  A couple members of the Guard are bringing their SUVs, along with ladders if we need them.”  He stops and looks around.  “Not to mention extra seats.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Good thing everything I own is extra-large,” Dwight mutters as Brienne reluctantly squeezes herself into Dwight’s odd-shaped, narrow horseless carriage that has only one bench for the three of them to sit on.  The carriage is roomy enough but with Dwight on one side of her and Jaime on the other, there is not much room for movement.  

She also feels naked without her armor, left behind in the council room, and Oathkeeper is stowed in the back with Widow’s Wail.  At least Jaime is not faring much better and they both waste precious time trying to understand the odd ‘seatbelts’ that Dwight insists they use that pin them all, including Dwight, to the bench.  Still, their hands are free and that’s more than what the Bloody Mummers allowed.

Brienne thinks she understands what’s going to happen next but even so, when Dwight turns a key and the carriage roars into life, rumbling beneath their feet, she finds herself fumbling for Jaime’s hand.  He clutches at her fingers just as tightly as Dwight moves a stick on the wheel he’s holding and the carriage begins to move.  Then they’re flying, the road and the buildings, people and other horseless carriages, speeding past more rapidly than the fastest horse or ship she has ever seen.  Jaime’s fingers are crushing hers as they leave the town behind and the carriage begins to go even _faster_.

Dwight glances at them and his grin is both amused and sympathetic.  “Don’t worry,” he says.  “You’ll get used to it.”

Brienne can only hope he’s right.

*/*/*/*/*

Even with the speed they’re travelling, Brienne can tell the Weinbauer place is isolated.  The carriage ride is endless although Dwight was right:  the longer they travel without something going wrong, the more both she and Jaime relax, although neither untangle their fingers from the other’s.

Still, it is almost enjoyable in that tightly packed space.

The carriage slows as they follow Nathan’s carriage as it turns off the flat, smooth road, paved with some magical black material stretching ahead of them like a wide, languorous snake, onto a rough dirt track winding its way through a thick forest.

“This is almost like home,” Jaime says.

“Some things never change, I guess,” Dwight says.

The track grows fainter the farther they go until the carriage has slowed to a crawl.

“Even the pace is familiar now,” Brienne says and Dwight laughs.

The track curves and as it straightens again they see Nathan’s carriage has stopped in front of another carriage, white this time, that is sitting in the track ahead of them.  Dwight pulls to a stop and Jaime and Brienne untangle themselves from the ‘seatbelts’ and each other and join Dwight at the back of the carriage where Dwight hands them their swords.  Brienne buckles Oathkeeper around her waist then helps Jaime finish doing the same with Widow’s Wail before joining Dwight and the others standing by the wall.

The wall is grey and seamless, but to Brienne, it looks like any other castle’s wall, only smoother.

“No sign of cameras,” Castle says.  “Hopefully that means they don’t know we’re here.”

Duke frowns as he inspects the wall.  “No seams that I can see, but the way in must be near here.”

Beckett nods.  “No need to park away from it, not out here.”

Brennan and Miller agree while Booth hands out a breastplate made of thick, heavy cloth.  Brienne scowls as she wonders how such a flimsy thing could ever hope to stop a blade.  She shares a look with Jaime.  He shrugs and puts it on.  She shakes her head and does the same.

“Good idea,” Dwight says to Booth.  “Just make sure you know where I am at all times and make sure you’re never between me and a potential shooter.  Bullets have been known to find me behind doors so keep your eyes open.”

Booth gives him a look of disbelief.  “That...”  He shakes his head and says nothing more.

“Any idea how far the cabin is from the wall?”  Beck asks, shrugging into his breastplate.

Nathan shrugs, glancing at Duke and Dwight.  “I’ve never been here.  You?”

They shake their heads.

“Not too many people remember this is even out here,” Duke says.  “Weinbauer didn’t have a lot of friends.”

“Are you positive curious kids haven’t been climbing over the wall?” Hardy asks.  “I find that hard to believe.  A place like this, far from parental eyes.”

Duke grins.  “If they were, I guarantee they stopped when the Troubles came back.  Too much curiosity right now can get you killed and this wall looks suspicious enough to make even the bravest kids cautious.  Besides, like we said before, the only kids who would find this place are those who already know it’s here.”

Nathan nods.  “Kip and Connett don’t have much risk of being discovered.”

“Perfect killing ground,” Beckett murmurs.

They run their hands over the wall, searching for a nick or seam or _something_ that would tell them where the door is until finally Audrey steps back, shaking her head.

“Let’s get the ladders up and take a look over the wall.”

What follows is a short and heated debate conducted in low tones about who would be the ones to go up the ladders.

Audrey finally puts her hands up for silence and says, “There’s only one way to solve this.  Rock, paper, scissors.”

*/*/*/*/*

In the end, Beck and Miller win the contest and creep up the ladder to peer over the edge of the wall, using two Myrish lenses connected together.  They spend what feels like eternity at the top but it is actually only several minutes before they’re scrambling down again.

“No cabin in sight,” Miller says and Beck nods.

“The forest is thick,” he says, “but I couldn’t see anything nearby.”

“Right,” Audrey says and turns to Kirk and Tony.  “Let’s see how your new toy works on solid rock.”

Kirk’s eyes light up as he draws the phaser, points it at the wall, and pulls the trigger.  In less than a minute, he’s dissolved a hole large enough for even Brienne to climb through, and it’s been done almost silently.

Jaime’s eyes gleam as he looks from the wall to Tony.  “Can I take that back with me?” he asks.  He shrugs at Brienne’s incredulous stare.  “It would save a lot of time when you’re besieging a castle.”

Tony grins.  “Not sure how all this works but I’ll see what I can do.”

Everyone checks their weapons then creep through the opening.  Once they’re all past the wall, Dwight taps his chest and says, “Remember:  bullet magnet.  Know where I am at all times and don’t fire your own weapon because it won’t go where you’re aiming.”  He looks at Brienne and Jaime, his eyes resting on the swords once again hanging there hips.  “You two I like.”

There are grins all around then Audrey says, “Let’s go.”

*/*/*/*/*


	32. Fenley (Haven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Captivity and restraints, non-graphic violence (past, present, and threatened) and mention of blood.

 

***/*/*/*/***

The cuts are shallow, although they don’t feel that way, and the bleeding stops long before the pictures do.  Kip and Connett confer, heads almost touching as they flip through the photos, and if Fenley could have knocked their teeth out with her manacles, she would have done it.

“Too much red,” Kip says shaking his head.  “These look like during photos not before ones.”

Connett shrugs.  “So we’ll change the bedding and take a few more.”  He glances at her, his eyes gleaming, his thick lips glistening from where he licked them.  “We can clean her up so we can’t even see the cuts.”

Kip rolls his eyes.  “You change the bedding,” he says, bored.  “It’s your fault this wasn’t done before I got here.”

Connett’s eyes narrow.  “I told you:  she knocked me out somehow.  She did the same shit to you, remember?”

“Just do it,” Kip sneers.

Kip unlocks the chains from her legs first then shackles her ankles together so she can only move her feet about six inches before coming up short.  Once he’s satisfied that she can’t run, he does the same with her hands before he half-drags, half-carries her to the living room, leaving Connett to clean the bedroom.  Fenley’s still gagged, and she knows that the next time they tie her to the bed, it’s going to be the last.  The manacles on her wrists are heavy, but if she can get in one good hit...if she can buy herself enough time to get the gag out of her mouth...

Kip is watching her, those eyes she used to want to drown in cold and mocking with no hint of softness as he shoves her onto the couch then chains her hands to an iron eye bolt screwed into the floor and hidden by the couch’s skirt.  Kip has judged the length of chain to the inch: she can barely lift her hands from her lap.  She tugs at her restraints, hoping against hope she can yank the bolt out of the floor, but there’s no give at all.

“Think you’re the first one to think of that?” he says.  He reaches out and rubs a lock of her hair between her fingers, as if he’s testing its texture and, from his mocking smirk, finding it wanting.  “Nothing personal,” he says.  “You’re not even my type.  But Connett saw you and when he gets an idea in his head, well...”

Fenley jerks her head away.

_If I ever get this gag out of my mouth_ , she thinks, _I’m going to kill you while you’re sleeping._

The pain from her cuts and her still-throbbing head seems to have chased away her terror, at least for now.  Or maybe it’s her Trouble, calming her.  She hasn’t been able to tell herself a story or go away inside as Jaime and Brienne urged, but she swears she felt Heather and Pepper holding her hands as Connett wielded his knife.  Even now she feels them beside her, murmuring calming words in her ear, and she honestly doesn’t know if her desire to kill her captors the first chance she gets is from her thoughts or their words.

_No, not Heather and Pepper,_ a distant part of her thinks.  _They would never advocate murder, no matter the circumstances._

**Self-defense,** Pepper whispers.  **I’ve killed, too, when it was necessary.**

**So would I,** Heather says.  **Do what you must.**

Kip gives her a rough shove and her wounds pull, making her wince even as she glares at him.

“Good to see your spirit isn’t entirely broken.  That does make it more fun.  I may even see if I can convince Connett to let you loose again.  I prefer the hunt, really, but to each their own.”  His eyes turn searching.  “You’re one of _those_ , aren’t you?”

She frowns as much as she can with a gag shoved in her mouth.

“Troubled.  _Cursed_ , as the Rev used to say.  I try to avoid people like you.  Too unpredictable.  Although now that we’ve tasted one, we may have to try another.  You’ve posed an unexpected and rather thrilling challenge.”

Fenley can feel Heather and Pepper vibrating with rage beside her.

_You’re too much of a coward to target Troubled people_ , she thinks.  _You’d be too scared about what their Trouble might do to you._

Kip leans closer.  “Connett doesn’t know about the Troubles.  He’s not from around here.  Just a kindred spirit I met online.”  He grins, his eyes glittering, and Fenley doesn’t know if it’s amusement or sadistic pleasure shining in them.  “I’m getting a bit bored with him, though, so I might have to surprise him with another Troubled creature one of these days.  One who’s a bit more dangerous than you.”  He sits back.  “But that’s a pleasure for another day.”

Fenley wonders if her eyes are as wide as they feel.  How had she never seen how monstrous Kip really is?

**Not all monsters hide under the bed,** Heather says.  **Sometimes they hide in plain sight.**

**It’s what makes them good monsters** , Pepper says.

_That may be true,_ Fenley thinks, _but how do I get away from these particular monsters now?_

**Help is on its way,** Pepper says.

_No.  It’s not.  No one knows where I am. I don’t know where I am!_

**Trust us** , Heather says, and for a moment, Fenley thinks she can feel her hand, warm and comforting on her shoulder.

Tears prick at Fenley’s eyes.  Kip sees them and his smile widens, pleased.

“It’s ready,” Connett says from the door to the bedroom.

Kip’s smile changes into a grin as he unchains her from the couch and yanks her to her feet—

—and the door bursts open with a crash, and two, three, four men rush in, guns drawn, fanning out around the room while two men and a woman follow behind them.

“Haven PD!” the woman barks, her gun rock steady in her hand as she points it at Kip.  “Get your hands where I can see ‘em!”

Kip gapes and Fenley hears glass shattering from the bedroom as Connett bolts outside, then there’s shouting and the sounds of a scuffle as, she assumes, Connett is tackled to the ground.

Kip’s hold on her arm has eased and Fenley whips her manacled wrists up, smacking them against his jaw with a solid crunch.  She watches with grim satisfaction as he screams and drops to the floor, his hands cupped around his now-bleeding mouth.

Fenley scrabbles at the gag in her mouth and spits, “Fuck you, asshole.”

She notices that the seven people who burst into the cabin are watching her with raised eyebrows although their guns haven’t wavered from Kip.  She finally gets a good look at them...and her eyes widen.

Because she swears that three of the men who burst into the cabin look like Seeley Booth, Edward Beck, and...Captain James T. Kirk?  Complete with a gold shirt beneath kevlar, black pants, and rather silly looking boots.  And behind them, dragging in a bruised, bleeding, cuffed Connett are...

Her jaw drops.

Kate Beckett and Temperance Brennan.

“ _…what...?_ ” she croaks.

“I’m Nathan Wuornos, Acting Chief of Police, Haven PD,” says the tall, slender brunette man who had come into the cabin with the blonde woman who’s busy snapping handcuffs on a now-sobbing Kip. 

She finishes and looks at Fenley.  “Detective Audrey Parker, also Haven PD.”

Fenley barely hears her because Booth, Beck, and Kirk, and the other two men are busy checking the other rooms of the cabin while even _more_ people are pouring inside:  Richard Castle and Tony Stark, Spock and McCoy, Alec Hardy and Ellie Miller, and bringing up the rear, in their rough spun breeches and medieval style boots, swords in hand, are Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth, only they’re wearing kevlar vests instead of armor.

“I’ve gone _crazy_ ,” Fenley whispers.

**Your cavalry,** Heather whispers.

**Told you they were on their way,** Pepper murmurs, and Fenley hears them laughing as they fade away.

“Oi,” Ellie says, bustling forward with a warm, motherly smile on her face that looks odd when seen above kevlar instead of an eye-burning orange anorak.  “Look at you!  Let’s get those _things_ off and get you covered up while everyone gets settled, then we can talk.”  She turns and glares at Kip and Connett and Fenley knows she’s on the verge of kicking the shit out of both of them.  “We’ll deal with _them_ later.”

And Fenley bursts into tears.

*/*/*/*/*

Miller coaxes Fenley into the bedroom and McCoy soon follows with the keys to the manacles and a first aid kit.

While Miller frees her from her restraints, McCoy is pawing through the kit.

“I had forgotten just how primitive this century is,” he grumbles which causes Miller to raise her eyebrows.

She leans in to Fenley as she frees her wrists and says, her voice pitched low in a conspiratorial whisper, “I never realized how much like Hardy he is.”

That makes Fenley giggle through her tears.  “Why do you think I like them both?” she says and then she’s crying again, even harder, because this is _insane_ and she doesn’t know if this is real or if she’s so desperate for rescue that she’s dreamed this up from whole cloth, and she’s really gone away inside and left reality behind.

Miller presses several crumpled tissues into her hands and lets her cry on her shoulder while McCoy hovers, looking both stricken and royally pissed, although Fenley knows he’s not angry with her.

He waits until she gets herself under some semblance of control then says, “I’d like to examine your injuries, if you’ll let me.”

Fenley hesitates, shrinking back against Miller.

Miller says, “I can do it, if you’d like, or one of the other ladies.  It’s just first aid, really, to see how you are.”

Fenley shakes her head.  “McCoy’s a doctor, not...not _them_.  I trust him.”  _Plus, he’s not real, any more than you are_ , she thinks.  _This may still just be an hallucination._ But when Miller moves to stand up, Fenley clutches at her.  “But hold my hand?”

Miller’s eyes are suspiciously damp as she rapidly blinks and settles back down beside her.  “Of course, love.  Of course.”

*/*/*/*/*

McCoy is quick and thorough and gruffly kind, his hands warm and gentle, just the way Fenley always imagined he would be.  He examines and cleans the cuts on her inner thighs, then the bruises and scrapes from the manacles and her time in the forest.  McCoy growls beneath his breath the entire time about barbarians and the primitive materials he has to work with and how if he was on the Enterprise, he could heal her injuries in no time at all, as if they had never been.

He pauses, scowling, and gives her a searching look.  “If only all wounds were that easy to heal.”

Her eyes once again fill with tears but she forces them away.  “I am going to be okay,” she says, as confidently as she can when her sinuses are clogged from crying and she just wants to crawl into a corner once she’s someplace safe and sleep for a week.  “They didn’t...”  She stops, swallowing back the bile she feels climbing up her throat.  She gives McCoy and Miller a fleeting smile.  “I can’t even say it,” she says.  “Not yet.  Maybe I’m not as okay as I hope I am.”

Miller smiles.  “You are a very brave young woman.”

That almost brings the tears back but she gasps and her fingers convulse around Miller’s hand as McCoy gently probes the bump on the back of her head.

“Given this century’s primitive technology, I’m going to recommend an x-ray and at least one night in the hospital for observation.”  He shakes his head.  “I should have brought the tricorder instead of a phaser.  Tony might have been able to make that work, too.”

Fenley frowns.  “What?”

Miller gives her a reassuring pat on the hand.  “Jarell will tell you all about it once we get you back to Haven.”

Hearing her sister’s name almost reduces Fenley to tears once again.  “Does she know I’m okay?”

Miller and McCoy exchange a glance.  “She knows,” Miller says.  “She knows.”

*/*/*/*/*

By the time Fenley shuffles back into the living room, swathed once again in a clean sheet, her wounds cleaned and bandaged, Kip has stopped bleeding, Connett’s face is bruised and swollen, and both are looking sullen as they sit side-by-side on the couch.

Nathan looks at her then at her feet.  “You can’t walk through the woods like that.”

Fenley feels a ghost of a smile curve her lips.  “Just give me a pair of their shoes,” she says, nodding at Kip and Connett.  “I’ll make it.”

Tony hands her a bottle of water that she takes with a bemused thank you.  “Or,” he says, “we can just go back and dissolve another, larger hole in the wall and drive the SUVs up to the cabin.”

Nathan and Audrey exchange a glance and a shrug.

“Go,” Nathan says, tossing him a set of keys.

“Come on, Kirk,” Tony says and they leave the cabin.

“Dissolve the wall?” Fenley asks.

“We’ll explain later,” Nathan says.  “We’ll get you back to Haven and to a hospital.  Jarell will meet you there.”

Fenley nods then looks at Kip and Connett.  “What about these two?”

“Where I live, the punishment for rape and murder is beheading,” Jaime says.  “These two are obviously guilty.  Why are we waiting?”

Everyone pauses then turns thoughtful stares on Jaime.

“Well…” Audrey slowly says and stutters to a halt.

“You can’t let him threaten us like that!” Kip whines, his voice thick and wet and nasal.  “It’s police brutality.  And look at him!  He’s a crazy freak, him and that ugly bitch behind him!  We’re in your custody and you have a duty to protect us!  We have rights!”

Fenley catches her breath, waiting for Jaime to use his golden hand to break Kip’s jaw in retaliation for that insult to Brienne.  Instead, Jaime simply draws his sword, the blade sliding from the leather sheath with a soft hissing sound.  His smile is colder than any of the knives Fenley has seen in the cabin.

“I am willing to do the honours,” he says.  “Granted, I am still somewhat less than skilled with my left hand so it may take several blows before their heads are finally severed from their bodies.”  He shrugs.  “This is a Valyrian steel blade, however, so it might be easier than I think.”

“You—you can’t do that!” Connett shrieks.  “We have laws!  We deserve a trial!”

“Trial by combat?” Jaime says.  “I’m sure Lady Brienne will be more than pleased to stand as Lady Fenley’s champion.”

Brienne draws herself up straight, her hand gripping Oathkeeper’s hilt.

Jaime leans closer, his smile becoming even sharper.  “I will even lend you my sword,” he purrs.

There’s the sudden stench of urine and Fenley bites back a laugh as both Kip and Connett’s bladders let go.

Audrey gulps then says, “We...we don’t actually do that here.”

Jaime raises a golden eyebrow, his eyes gleaming.  “No?  Pity.”

Castle tilts his head, smirking.  “Although if ever there was a time to make an exception...”

Audrey turns her head, her cough sounding suspiciously like a laugh, then murmurs, “Haven does have to make its own laws sometimes…”

Beckett says, “There may be victims outside of Haven.”

That sobers everyone and Audrey exchanges glances with Nathan and two other men Fenley has seen around Haven although she doesn’t know their names.

Nathan sighs.  “That complicates things.”

The lanky, long-faced, black-haired man says, “The last thing we need is the outside world descending on Haven.”

The giant blond man, who’s almost as tall as Brienne and Jaime but bulkier, nods.  “That might be a problem.”

Jaime raises his sword in question and the blond man grins.  “Keep that in reserve,” he says, “just in case.”

“Oi,” Hardy sighs.  “These Americans.”

*/*/*/*/*


	33. Audrey Parker (Haven) and Fenley (Haven)

**Audrey Parker (Haven)**

Audrey gazes around at the people in the crowded meeting room and, even though their voices are raised in passionate argument, she can’t help but smile.  None of these people should be here, none of them exist outside the realm of the imagination, but they are here, they stepped up when it mattered, and they’re still stepping up.

It’s been twenty-four hours since they rescued Fenley.  During that time they managed to connect Connett and Kip to all three of the previous disappearances as well as one more from the case files they reviewed, and Audrey finally managed to get a full night’s sleep in her own bed.

This morning, however, the question of whether they can connect Kip and Connett to crimes outside Haven erupted into furious debates.  Hardy, Miller, and Beckett are the most vocal in their advocacy to consult with other police departments to determine if there are victims elsewhere whose families need closure, while others, including Audrey, Nathan, and Duke are cautioning against it.

“We must approach this logically,” Spock finally says, his calm voice a soothing balm on everyone’s simmering emotions.  “How will the Haven police department explain how their location was discovered?  Telepathy is not an accepted phenomenon in the early twenty-first century.”

Booth nods.  “And fabricating evidence will only taint the trial if it ever comes to light.”

“Never stopped us before,” Duke mutters and Audrey shushes him.

Spock says, “Then there is the issue of the threats against their lives made by Sir Jaime.”

Jaime hangs his head but Audrey doesn’t think he looks even a little bit remorseful.  Brienne turns away, biting back a smile.

“We don’t even need to try and explain that one,” Nathan says.  “Sir Jaime doesn’t exist in our world and who would believe we brought a medieval knight complete with shiny sword on a rescue mission?”

Spock raises an eyebrow.  “If both perpetrators tell a similar story, however?  Is that not more difficult to explain?”

There’s a moment of glum silence.

“It’s not the crime,” Castle grumbles, “it’s the cover-up.”

Audrey sighs.  “We’re used to covering up the messes left behind by the Troubles.  People in Haven have learned not to ask too many questions.  This is different.  This may involve the outside world in a way we haven’t had to deal with before.”

“Be discreet,” Booth says.  “You used to be FBI.  Call your contacts at the bureau, see if they have any unsolved murders that match this MO.  You must have some favours you can call in.”

Audrey exchanges glances with Nathan, Duke, and Dwight.  “It’s not that simple,” she says.  She hesitates then sighs again.  “ _I_ don’t exist in this world either.”

There’s a sudden stillness as her words sink in.

She shrugs, her smile rueful, almost bitter.  “My memories are... _borrowed_ from another woman, who really was an FBI agent.  The real Audrey Parker... _retired_ from the bureau after a rather... _eventful_ visit to Haven.  Last I heard, she’s living peacefully with the love of her life.”  She flicks a glance at Nathan.  “So, no.  No contacts.  No favours.  No official existence outside Haven.”

Nathan’s lips tighten and his eyes seem to burn her.  “You exist to me,” he says.  He slides a glance at Duke and Dwight.  “You exist to us.”

Audrey puts a soothing hand on Nathan’s arm.  “I know.  But it doesn’t change the fact that, to the outside world, I am an imposter.  A criminal, actually, if they ever find out about me.”

Nathan crosses his arms, his hands tucked protectively against his body, and Audrey’s heart flutters at his obstinate scowl.

“Besides,” Audrey says, too loud, too brisk, as she turns back to their guests, “this isn’t about me.  It’s about the possible other victims out there, outside Haven.”

“Well,” Hardy says in his Scottish burr, his scowl even more ferocious than Nathan’s, “there’s only one thing left to do.”

Audrey can’t help but smile at him.  He may be grumpy and abrasive but she finds him rather charming.  “And what’s that?”

“Go back to the beginning.  Trace Connett and Kip and their movements.  See if there’s a trail of dead bodies behind them.  Take it from there.  You should be able to access bank records and credit cards and employment records without raising questions, yah?”

Tony perks up.  “I can help you with that.”

“That may not be a good thing,” Nathan mutters.

Booth grins.  “And let us help you interrogate them.”

“Any statements you take won’t stand up in court, if it gets to that,” Nathan says.  “You don’t exist here, remember?”

“But we’ve dealt with serial killers before,” Beckett says.  “Who better than us to help you understand what you’re dealing with?”

Audrey ponders for a moment, then says, “Well, I can’t argue with that.  Nathan and I will interrogate them.  The rest of you can watch and help us analyze the information.”  She takes a deep breath.  “For as long as you’re here, anyway.”

Silence descends and Audrey meets each person’s gaze without flinching.

She says, “We also need to figure out how to send you home.”

*/*/*/*/*

Kip and Connett refuse to answer questions but thankfully, it takes Audrey and the rest only two days to finish their investigation.  It helps to have so many experienced detectives helping them crunch through the data...and a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist who knows how to create a program to gather more data more quickly than anyone thought possible.

Not that anyone is asking too many questions about just which databases Tony is accessing, or how, because it helps them confirm there are no victims outside of Haven.

Kip and Connett connected online almost two years earlier, in a deep, dark corner of the internet where people feel free to share their darkest fantasies.  Their paths crossed, they discovered they were kindred spirits, and six months ago, they decided to move their fantasies into reality because Kip had found the perfect place where they would not be disturbed.

In the end, Dwight calls in a favour or two, and makes arrangements to quietly bundle Kip and Connett off to a prison that is, Dwight explains to Audrey and Nathan, _unique_.

“Run by the Troubled, for those who deliberately misuse their Troubles to cause harm.  Kip and Connett’s families will be told their loved ones died in a fiery car crash, their bodies burned beyond recognition.  Nobody will ask any questions.”

“I’d prefer they stand trial,” Audrey mutters.  “Even guilty men deserve their day in court.  The families of their victims deserve to see them publicly named and sentenced.”

Nathan shakes his head.  “Too dangerous.  A case like this?  The outside world will come crashing into Haven, especially reporters.  We can’t risk it.”

Audrey sighs.  “I know.”  She looks at Dwight.  “Do it.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Duke closes the Grey Gull to host a private party celebrating Fenley’s rescue and putting her captors behind bars...even if it wasn’t accomplished in exact accordance with the law.  Fenley is in the place of honour, although she’s obviously still bemused and confused that all of the characters she has written about are in the same room, alive and well and talking to her.

Audrey leans against the bar with a smile on her face and a beer in her hand as she scans the room.

McCoy and Hardy are sitting next to each other, sprawled in their chairs and watching everyone with matching scowls of grumpiness mixed with relief.  Brienne and Beck are next to them, looking only slightly less grumpy, their wary, watchful eyes moving restlessly around the room.  Spock and Brennan are comparing notes about something that Audrey is sure she wouldn’t understand, and while Brennan has a slightly more expressive face, they currently have almost identical looks of focused intensity.

Nathan’s standing with Beckett and Booth, head tilted to one side as he listens to them.  Nathan has one hand tucked up beneath his arm, and a beer casually held in his other.  Audrey allows herself a moment to admire the sharpness of his cheekbones and the long, clean lines of his legs.  He glances over and meets her gaze, and the look in his eyes warms her all the way to her toes.

A burst of raucous laughter makes her turn her head.  Kirk and Castle, Duke and Tony and Jaime, are all laughing, and given the mischievous gleams in Tony’s and Kirk’s eyes, Audrey is almost afraid to find out what they’re talking about.

She glances at the women standing next to her:  Jarell, Heather, Pepper and Miller, all watching the others with half-exasperated, half-fond smiles.

Heather looks at Audrey and gives a sheepish shrug.  “Beck’s very personable,” she says earnestly.  “He just takes a while to warm up to people.”

Pepper snorts. “Tony never cools off,” she says.

Miller laughs.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hardy warmer than one degree above freezing...except when he’s angry, of course.”

“Angry?” Tony calls, then turns to Fenley with a teasing grin.  “Have you finally brought Bruce over, then?”

Pepper rolls her eyes.  “No, Tony,” she says.  “Go back to whatever it is you’re doing.”

Tony’s grin turns from teasing to warm and he gestures for them to join his group.  Pepper, Heather, and Miller do just that while Audrey puts a hand on Jarell’s arm, keeping her beside her.

They observe the others for a moment in silence.  The men, with the exception of Jaime, are all tallish, dark and handsome, all with an air of something dangerous lurking beneath what appears to be a benign surface...and there, Jaime fits in perfectly.  They all have a certain air of arrogant confidence, swagger, and humor that Audrey understands can be hard to resist.

The women are all beautiful...except Brienne, who is many things but ‘beautiful’ is not one of them, especially not with that horrific scar on her cheek.  McCoy, Audrey sees, is now on leaning close to her, talking with her as he peers intently at the scar.  Judging from the look on his face, he’s not very pleased with how it’s healed.  Still, all the women, including Brienne, are competent, brave, and confident, in their own ways.

Audrey turns to look at Jarell, who shrugs.

“What can I say?  Fenley has a type.”

Audrey grins.  “Don’t we all.”

Jarell’s smile is fleeting but sincere.  “But I somehow doubt you wanted to talk to me about my sister’s taste in fictional characters.”

Audrey’s grin fades.  “We need to find a way to send them back.”

Jarell sighs.  “I was afraid of that.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Fenley (Haven)**

Fenley is silent as she listens to Audrey and Jarell.  She’s torn between knowing what they’re saying is the right thing to do and the desire to keep these people here with her for just a while longer.

“It’s only been a week since you found me,” she says, her voice more plaintive than she likes.  “Can’t we wait?”

Audrey and Jarell exchange glances then Audrey leans forward.  “The Troubles won’t last forever, Fenley.  And your… _friends_.  They don’t belong here.”

“It’s not that much different from where they’re from.”

“McCoy’s been chasing Jaime around, trying to get a better look at his amputated arm while muttering about cybernetic replacements.  Brienne went looking for horses yesterday at the pet shop.”

Fenley smiles.  “Thor would be proud.”

“Tony’s offered to help McCoy pin Jaime down, and it’s all Pepper can do to stop him from hacking into the FBI computers to look for information about the Troubles and my past identities.”  Audrey looks hunted.  “I’m not so sure she’s managed to stop him.”

“And the detectives?”

“Hardy keeps grumbling about American police procedures, and they all keep asking to dig into our case files...which I appreciate, I have to admit, only they’re going to get themselves killed one of these days if they keep asking to go out on calls with us.  Beck and Heather are lecturing everyone who will listen about being prepared for any emergency, and they’re starting to freak people out even more than the Troubles do.  And as for Kirk, well, he’s just getting bored to the point where even Spock looks slightly concerned whenever he leaves his sight.”

Fenley can’t help but laugh.  “I love them for a reason,” she says.  She shivers and wraps her arms around herself.  “I’m not ready for them to go.  It’s only been a week.”

Audrey gives her a long, silent look then leans back in her chair.  “They have to go back,” she says, “and I think you know that.”

Fenley lifts her chin.  “No.  I don’t.”

Audrey tilts her head to one side.  “No?  Then tell me a story about them.”

*/*/*/*/*

Fenley tries.  She _tries_.

But whatever well of creativity she drew upon when she wrote her stories is empty.  There’s no dialogue, no scenes, not even a sense of who the characters are and how they might interact.

There’s just…nothing.

Audrey looks at her, her eyes soft with sympathy.

Fenley rubs her hand over her face.  “What do I have to do?”

Audrey glances at Jarell.  “I think it’s what you both have to do.”

*/*/*/*/*

They bring in Jaime and Brienne first.  They were the last to appear in Haven and were the first ones Jarell managed to reconnect with Fenley’s consciousness when they were still searching for her.  Jarell is sitting at the table beside Fenley, pad and pencils at hand.

Brienne and Jaime listen as Audrey explains to them that it’s time for them to leave Haven, and how she thinks it’s going to work.

Brienne says, “What will happen to us?”

Audrey gives her a tender smile.  “You will return to wherever you were before Jarell willed you into existence.”

Brienne blinks her remarkably pretty blue eyes at her.  “We’ll die, you mean.”

“No,” Audrey says as gently as she can.

Fenley leans forward and says, “You can never die, Brienne.  You will simply return to that place where dreams are made.  It’s a realm of endless possibilities, where you are loved by those you have never known, and where you live and fall in love in a million different ways, each one as different as the person who dreams of it.  You—all of you—are gossamer and silk, solace and potential and...”  she closes her eyes and gulps back tears.  “And the best of all friends in an hour of need.  None of you are going to die.  You’re simply going back where you belong.”

Brienne puts her hand on Fenley’s, and Fenley opens her eyes, crying now in earnest.

Brienne says, “I don’t know how this works.”

Fenley smiles through her tears and says, “Let me tell you a story.”

######

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**   Happy Anniversary, babies!  And yes, my intent is to write a new fic for every one of the fandoms included in this crossover…although who knows when I’ll get them done.  Thanks for taking the chance on this fic and coming along for the ride and celebrating my 10 year FanFic Anniversary with me!


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